


redux

by abnels



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, barista daichi, iwaizumi is the best friend a guy could have and oikawa is a close second, kageyama deserves a medal for his efforts, minor character death - daichi's mother is terminally ill, minor side pairings: iwaoi and asanoya, smut in later chapters, warnings tagged in chapter notes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-26
Updated: 2016-12-20
Packaged: 2018-08-11 05:06:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 24,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7877656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/abnels/pseuds/abnels
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Suga has a dark past. Daichi has a dark present. But together?</p><p>Together, their future is bright.</p><p> </p><p>re·dux: [adjective]<br/>brought back; revived.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. homecoming king

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! FIRST AND FOREMOST: thank you so very much to my beta, Lah Tascha! <3 You can find her twitter [here](https://twitter.com/shittygomu)! She has graciously fixed all of my typos for the first three chapters of this fic, which will all be posted this week! I'd also like to thank my artist, [uncrownedkings](http://uncrownedkings.tumblr.com/), whose work will be linked in chapter two.
> 
> This fic is the brainchild of myself and [witchy](http://cantriix.tumblr.com/), whose works you can read [here](http://archiveofourown.org/users/bruixa/pseuds/bruixa)!
> 
> Content warnings will be posted at the beginning of chapters in notes when applicable, so you can take care of yourself. Aside from the first three chapters, which were completed as part of HQBB, I have a fair portion of the next few written; however updates will not be as fast after these first three. Just a heads up! Without further ado, please enjoy!

It’s a rude awakening, to come back to a face that doesn’t look like the one you used to know. Or, at least, that’s what Sawamura Daichi thinks when he runs into Sugawara Koushi for the first time in four years. That grey hair looks as soft as it ever did, but the eyes are thousands of degrees colder than Daichi remembers. His hair’s longer than it used to be, nothing dramatic, but still a little different, and he certainly doesn’t remember a Suga with his ears pierced and a chip on his shoulder. Daichi waves anyways, when they make eye contact.

He tries not to flinch when Suga’s mouth curls into a dismissive sneer, the silence washing over him as Suga ghosts on by. His hand hangs in the air, an abandoned gesture as something like shame and hurt warms and reddens his face.

Daichi turns after his once-best-friend, calling out to him.

“Suga? Suga, it’s me!” Maybe Suga didn’t recognize him? It has been a while.

“I know it’s you, Daichi.” The response is flat and empty, Suga doesn’t even turn to look at him. And then he walks away.

Daichi does _not_ know what to do.

  


= = =

  


The bell over the door announces his entrance – a tall, dark-haired man looks up from the counter of the bakery and smiles at Daichi, who raises his eyebrows in surprise at having run into him here.

“Daichi! I didn’t know you were back in town!” Azumane Asahi wipes his hands off on his apron and moves around the counter, betraying his gentle nature in spite of his intimidating looks. He pulls Daichi in for a hug, careful of his own strength, and sets his arms on Daichi’s shoulders. “How are you doing?”

“Asahiiii, who are you talking to?” calls a voice through the door that leads to where Daichi suspects all the actual baking takes place. It takes him a moment to place the voice, and he’s no sooner thought the name than Nishinoya Yuu steps out from the back of the shop, hands on his hips.

“DAICHI-SAN!” he yells when he sees him.

Within seconds the shorter man has rushed past Asahi to leap on Daichi, who barely manages to keep himself upright with the sudden addition of weight.

“Noya!” Daichi says with an affectionate laugh, ruffling the two-toned hair of the boy in front of him. He notes the red dye in the place where blonde used to be. As he glances between the pair, he feels a pang of nostalgia – even though the color has changed, Noya’s still wearing his hair in those gravity-defying spikes of his, and Asahi’s brown locks reach past his shoulders (although the top half is pulled back in a ponytail behind his head). “How are you two?”

“We’re great!” Noya says, bursting with energy like always. He pulls Asahi’s hand into his grasp, swinging their arms between them. “How are you? How is college? You all educated now?!”

Daichi smiles warmly at them, ignoring the tweak in his heart. He’d always been suspicious of the two having feelings for each other, and he’s happy to see them like this – though he feels as though he’s missed a lot. He would have liked witnessing the spectacle that would have been the two getting together, though he knows that he should get used to the feeling of missing out. He was the one who went away for college, after all.

“University was fine. Really, really taxing, but I finally finished a week or two ago, so... I guess you could call me educated, if you really wanted to.” He tucks his hands into his pockets and shrugs. “You two work here?”

“Ah, well, actually-” Asahi starts, before Yuu finishes for him.

“We own it! Apparently Asahi has been cooking all his life! I didn’t find that out until after we started dating though.” Noya shoots Asahi a dirty look, as if Asahi purposely withheld the information just to spite him. Asahi wilts under the gaze.

“Really?!” Once more, Daichi heart squeezes tight in his chest. When he’d left for school, Asahi had been working for Ukai Keishin at their old coach’s store. “I know Asahi at least wasn’t planning on going to school right after high school, but to think that you two finally stopped dancing around each other and opened up shop. Good to know things turned out this well!” Wearing a proud smile on his face, he gives the taller man a gentle punch on the arm, though you wouldn’t know it was gentle based on the dramatic whimper Asahi responds with.

“You have to have faith in us, Daichi-san. Asahi can bake like a hundred different things, you gotta try something before you go!” Asahi looks flustered, and Noya beams up at him with warm excitement dancing in his brown eyes.

Daichi smiles. He remembers Suga and him helping Asahi cram for exams multiple times back in high school, and the wonderful meals his mother would whip up for the three of them. Probably where Asahi learned from. His reminiscing brings Suga back into his mind, and he can’t help but feel like it’s fate that he ran into Asahi and Noya like this today.

“I’ll be sure to do that, if you two don’t mind. Pretty sure my mom would love a loaf of bread with dinner tonight.” Daichi smiles. Asahi bustles behind the counter and rips off a sheet of parchment paper from a roll near the register, turning to pick out one of the loaves from within the display case. “I have a question for you two, though.”

Noya gives him an expectant look, nodding for him to continue.

“What- ah. What happened with Suga?”

The demeanor of the pair before him seems to blur into something buzzing with awkward uncertainty. Noya folds his arms over his chest and frowns.

“Uh, what do you, mean?” Asahi asks, looking like he just broke an expensive vase. “Something happened to him?”

“Something, oh! No! He just seems… different than I remember.” Different is an understatement, he thinks to himself. “What has he been up to?”

He’s answered with blank looks and obvious shiftiness. Asahi looks at Noya, and Noya looks at Asahi.

“If you two don’t tell me, I swear I’ll ask Shimizu,” Daichi threatens.

Yuu sighs and runs a hand through his hair, his lips pressing into a firm frown. “We just… agreed not to talk about it.” He’s looking at Asahi again, who looks back down at the loaf of bread and starts wrapping it up like they aren’t talking about what they’re talking about. It sets Daichi off a little bit.

“Agreed not to talk about it?”

“Yeah,” Noya says, shrugging. “It’s better that way.”

“So does that mean you don’t know?”

“We know.”

“Then tell me.”

Asahi stills his movements. “Suga just. He sort of went off the deep end. We don’t really... try to keep up with him anymore. He got into bad stuff, Daichi.”

The words curl around Daichi like a cold hand around his throat. What the hell does any of that mean? “Bad stuff?”

Noya shrugs. “Drugs. Theft. _Crime_ , Daichi.” Asahi looks back down at his work.

It’s like someone flicked the A/C on and blasted the three of them with cold air. Unspoken words swim in the room between them, a gap of knowledge that makes Daichi want to leap over the stupid counter and shake Asahi until he tells him every single thing that has happened since he left. “And you-” the words are directed at Asahi more than Noya – Asahi and Suga are, were, friends, god damn it – “you just _let_ him?”

Asahi tenses like he’s been struck, and Noya fires up right away.

“What the fuck do you mean ‘let him’, Daichi? What the fuck was Asahi supposed to do? You really think Asahi just sat back and watched Suga crash and burn?”

“Then what the hell happened?!” Daichi shouts back, dropping any pretense of holding a civilized discussion.

“Suga didn’t _want_ his help! And if you think that didn’t kill Asahi then you’ve been gone for too long. Let’s not forget where _you’ve_ been during all of this bullshit. The hell did you do to help that gives you the right to throw all of this in any of our faces, Daichi-san?”

“Noya…” Asahi tries, but Noya isn’t having it.

“You were out having a great life with no fucking problems, right?! Fuck you. Fuck you for saying that to us. To him.” Noya jerks a thumb over his shoulder in his boyfriend’s direction. “It’s Suga. Of _course_ we fucking tried.”

Daichi doesn’t know _what_ to say. He doesn’t know what he was expecting when he started this conversation, but it sure as hell wasn’t _this._ His mind is still spinning circles around the fact that Suga – his mind calls up an image of a jersey-clad boy setting the ball in the middle of a match, his sweaty face screwed up in blissful exertion – is some sort of petty criminal now.

“You haven’t been here, Daichi.” Finally Asahi is speaking for himself, in a tone reminiscent of a parent saying no to their spoiled child. “You have no idea what we’ve all been through, okay? None of this was easy for us. Not everything turned out the way we wanted.”

Noya looks like he’s about to add something, probably something with a lot more bite to it than the diplomatic words Asahi had to offer, but suddenly Daichi feels like a monster is trying to claw its way up his throat and the room is too small and they’re looking at him like he’s just summoned a demon right there in the middle of their quiet store, and he’s out the front door and halfway down the street before his brain can catch up with his legs.

He crouches down and presses shaking fingers to either side of his head, fingers buried in his short brown hair. His lungs won’t give him a break, and neither will his heart, beating like it’s threatening to burst out of his chest. _Breathe,_ he reminds himself.

A hand lands on his shoulder, then, half startling him out of his panic.

“Daichi?” asks Asahi, his voice soft and hesitant. It makes Daichi want to panic all over again. There’s a rustle of plastic and the tall man places a bag in his open hand. “You forgot your bread.”

“Oh,” is all Daichi says, still feeling lost.

“I… It’s on the house,” Asahi continues, awkwardly. “And... and my contact info is in there, so, send me a message if you need anything. I’m… sorry things got a little out of hand. It’s a touchy subject for us.”

“I get it.”

“I don’t know if you do, but... you will. So it’s okay. Tell your mom I said hi, yeah?”

“Okay.”

“Okay.” Silence settles between them like a thick sheet, and Daichi hears Asahi shuffle back and forth. He wraps his fingers around the bag and stands again, feeling the anxiety that overwhelmed him drift to the back of his mind, a buzz of nerves in the background. “I’ll see you around, Asahi,” he manages with a weak smile over his shoulder.

“I hope so,” says Asahi, and his tone is so much warmer than Daichi feels like he deserves. “Bye!”

Daichi hears him turn and walk away before he heads off himself. He has things to take care of.

It’s an understatement.

  


= = =

  


The bread is cold by the time Daichi gets home. His younger brother and sister race all around the house, bundles of energy bursting to tell him about their days.

“Aniki!” chatters Honoka, his eight-year-old sister when he finally makes it to the kitchen. She resembles him in many ways; her hair, though long and worn in twin braids, is straight and the darkest of browns, like his. Her eyes, too, are dark and warm. Her build, however, resembles that of their mother, what with her long, willowy arms and thin features. “How was your day?”

“It was good,” Daichi lies with a smile on his face (though his happiness is genuine; his younger siblings never fail to bring out the good in him). “And how was yours?”

“Amazing! The bento you made was so yummy, and Chikako tried to steal my omelet rolls but I fought her off with my chopsticks!”

“Honoka, you shouldn’t fight with your friends like that,” Daichi admonishes her gently.

Honoka fires back right away with a bright expression. “It was just for fun, and I traded her for a hot dog squid after I won anyways. _Mou_ , you’re not Mom, Daichi-nii, you don’t have to scold me!”

Daichi tweaks her nose (which she immediately whines about) and grins. “If I don’t scold you, who will?!”

His sister looks like she’s about to give him a lecture, her hands on the hips of her yellow grade-schooler uniform, but the youngest of the three Sawamura kids tears into the room with a shout and latches onto Daichi’s leg before she can start.

“Target captured!” he cries, and Daichi shares a quick glance with Honoka before dramatically falling to the floor.

“Oh no! The dread pirate Sawamura Hiro has captured me!” Daichi yells, feigning terror. “Honoka-chan, save me!”

Honoka’s face falls into a pout, her arms folding across her chest, and she nudges him with a toe. “Big brother Daichi is a dummy.”

Hiro crawls on top of Daichi and perches on his chest, his own mop of dark hair (though his is curly, rather than straight) sticking up at all sorts of angles. “You’ll never take him alive! I’m gonna ‘mpress him in my crew!”

Honoka looks on in exasperation, but Daichi doesn’t miss the upturn of the corner of her lips.

“Honoka, tell Mom… I loved her… I’m sorry… I couldn’t make it…” Daichi falls limp on the ground, little Hiro beating his tiny fists against his chest, shouting about killing his first man. Honoka crouches down and pokes Daichi hard in the cheek.

“Aniki, you’re being embarrassing. I’m not telling Mom that.”

Daichi opens his eyes and wraps his arm around his little sister, the other catching his brother. He pulls both of them to his chest and _squeezes_ , not hard enough to hurt, but hard enough for them to squirm and giggle in his arms.

“Oh no! The prisoner turned out to be an immortal squid! Will the two sailors ever escape his clutches?!” he says in a dramatic voice, narrating their fateful tale. Honoka giggles and rolls out of his grasp, while Hiro shrieks with laughter. Daichi himself lets out a chuckle, letting them both run off to carry on the game by themselves. He feels alive for the first time today.

Heaving a sigh, Daichi rolls to his knees and rises up off the floor. He pulls the bag towards him on the table and takes the carefully wrapped loaf of bread out, eyes landing on an e-mail address written in hasty chicken scratch on a corner of the paper folded around the bread. With another deep breath (and feeling just the slightest bit deflated) he pulls out his phone and types in the address.

After he saves the contact, he decides that it’s finally time to check in with the only other member of the household. Sawamura Keiko.

He pads across the house, taking a left down the short hallway of the main floor to what used to be the office, but is now his mother’s room. He knocks on the doorframe gently, a soft _tap tap_ , followed by him calling to her.

“Mom?” Daichi says, quietly, in case she is asleep.

“Daichi? Come in!” His mother’s voice is clear, high and full of warmth. Even when her voice had been used to scold him as a child, he couldn’t resent it. It calmed him, reassured him, and he thought it went deeper than the fact that it had been her voice that had opened his tiny world to the wonders of the universe when she read him bedtime stories as a child. She was his constant comfort throughout life.

Daichi pushes the door open and walks forward with a tentative smile.

“What’s with that face, Daichi? Did you burn the curry again?” Keiko smiles at him gently, and his eyes raise to meet hers.

Sawamura Keiko is a shadow of her former self. Her once gracefully thin body is now bones wrapped in skin, pale and wasting. Her dark hair has turned brittle with prolonged sickness, her eyes sunken into her sharp cheekbones that hold little of their old glow. Daichi think she looks like a skeleton. He does not voice this thought.

“ _Mom_ , no! I haven’t even turned on the stove.”

“Well you’d better get on it, or else those two little munchkins are going to be crawling all over you complaining about how hungry they are. Trust me, Daichi, I’ve been putting up with it on my own for four years now.” While the rest of her has changed, her cheerful voice has not. If Daichi closes his eyes, he can pretend that it belongs to a healthier version of his mother. “Before you go, dear, how was your day?”

Daichi makes a face at her from the doorway, and the low light cast by her bedside lamp isn’t dim enough to hide it.

“Ha! You look like your father when you make that face, you know.” Daichi knows. He does not want to think about it. “Bad day then?”

“Aa. Do you remember my best friend from high school? Sugawara Koushi?”

Keiko nods, her lips pressing into a thinner line than usual. “I do. What about him?”

Daichi senses something from her reaction, but he’s not sure how to call her out on it. “I ran into him today. It wasn’t the prettiest of reunions.”

Suga had been pretty, though. Not the same pretty he had been in high school, not that glowing handsome flame ever burning at his side. Now he was cold, like ice, and chiseled into harsh-yet-stunning angles. And Daichi aches for him in the moment, aches for what, he does not know. Not just yet.

“I’m sorry to hear that, dear. You have been away for a while, though, and people change.”

“I _know_ I’ve been away for a while,” Daichi snaps before he can stop himself. “I mean… Sorry. I just didn’t think so much could change in four years.” He rubs the back of his forehead, thinking about how his mother used to glow, too.

“The world never stops turning, Daichi. No matter how much it catches us off guard sometimes.” Her tone dips low, coloring with something Daichi has never sensed in her before, something distinctly melancholy. He crosses the room and takes her hand.

“It’ll be okay. One day at a time, right?” he says. She used to say that to him after he came home from a bad day at school, and he wants to use her words to remind her not to get ahead of herself with the morose feelings. Sometimes he worries for her so much it makes his chest feel tight.

“Oh, Daichi,” she says, swatting at his shoulder with thin fingers, “you sound like an old man. Lighten up a little! You’re twenty-two, not fifty! I swear, you’ve been on the gray side of forty on the inside ever since you were six…” Daichi makes a sound of protest.

A noise from the door draws their attention.

“Daichi?” says Honoka, leaning into the room with her fingers hanging on the doorframe. “Hiro’s hungry, and so am I, actually.”

“I told you,” Keiko says with a laugh. “Go on, Daichi, before the tears start falling.”

Tears are the last thing Daichi needs to deal with tonight, so he goes.

Three hours later, with his siblings sound asleep in their beds and the day’s events weighing heavy on his mind, Daichi stares up at the plain ceiling of his childhood bedroom and heaves a sigh. Tomorrow is his first day at the part-time barista position he managed to land a week after he got back in town. He remembers to set his alarm then, and rolls over onto his side, pulling the covers with him.

It is a long while before he finally falls into a blessedly dreamless sleep.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you can find me [here](https://twitter.com/koushichu) on twitter - which is a better way to contact me if you have any questions about this fic, because i am ATROCIOUS at replying to comments on ao3. however, feedback is one of my biggest motivators, so any form of it (kudos, comments, tweets, etc.) will literally make me cry tears of joy and blush until you could fry an egg on my face. 
> 
> ANYWAYS, thank you so, SO much for reading!!!! ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ i'm an awkward shrimp who is very grateful for your time!!


	2. getting knocked back on your ass

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It is so very easy to fall victim to the centripetal force of a life spiraling out of control.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ONCE AGAIN, thank you Lah Tascha my amazing beta! You can find her twitter [here](https://twitter.com/shittygomu)! She has graciously fixed all of my typos for the first three chapters of this fic, which will all be posted this week! I'd also like to thank my artist, [uncrownedkings](http://uncrownedkings.tumblr.com/), whose work will be linked as soon as possible!
> 
> This fic is the brainchild of myself and [witchy](http://cantriix.tumblr.com/), whose works you can read [here](http://archiveofourown.org/users/bruixa/pseuds/bruixa)!
> 
> No content warnings this chapter, unless you read something and think I should add a heads up, in which case let me know!

It’s a Thursday, which, in Suga’s world means blueberry muffins and a coffee with extra cream. He doesn’t have a usual place, not anymore, not since his last fight with Yuu, and since then he’s been using his Thursdays to search for muffins that are at least as good as Asahi’s. He’s running out of places to try, to be perfectly honest, but he has high hopes for this place based on the mouth-watering smell that lingers on the sidewalk outside.

He opens the door, which chimes to announce a customer, and walks right up to the counter to browse the baked goods while he waits for whoever is working to come out from the back of the store to help him. Someone is working here, right? He pulls his sleeves all the way down to his fingertips while he waits, crouched in front of the display case.

“Welcome to Kikuchihara’s, what can I- Suga?”

Suga’s head lifts, and _oh, no,_ he knew he recognized that voice. Daichi stands there, looking more delectable than anything behind the glass in his white shirt, black pants, and red apron. In case Suga wasn’t sure that it was him, the name tag pinned to his chest reads “Sawamura-san” with a stupid smiley-face logo extending from one corner. There’s a sucking, sinking feeling deep in Suga’s chest that makes him want to take a hammer to every glass surface in the store.

Fuck, no, he’s not doing this today. Suga turns on his heel and marches out of the store, throwing the door open so hard he startles an old woman on the sidewalk beside it.

He can hear Daichi behind him, calling out, and please god don’t let him be following…

But of course he is. Suga hears the rushed apology from Daichi thrown to the old woman and it sets his teeth on edge. He only makes it halfway down the street before he knows that the other man has caught up with him.

Daichi’s hand springs forward without conscious thought, wrapping around Suga’s wrist.

“Wait! Suga, please. Just give me five minutes,” he pants, his other hand on his knee as he leans over to catch his breath.

Suga jerks his scar-pinkened arm away as if he’s been burned by Daichi’s touch, but he does stop. “Why should I give you the time of day? It’s not like you’ve done me that courtesy for years.”

“Because, Suga, I just want to talk! I… I heard, about, stuff. About what has been going on with you lately, and I-”

Suga faces him, puffed up like a spitting cat, entering Daichi’s personal space with a look in his eye that has Daichi burning inside and frozen in place all at the same time. His golden eyes dance like moonlight on the surface of a lake, cold and alive and venomous.

“You _heard_ , did you? Funny how everyone _hears_. So what did you hear, Daichi? That I’m no good, that you should stay away from me, that the ‘Sugawara boy’ is trouble?”

“Well, not exactly that. No one would give me the straight story, they just said that you’d gotten into… well, bad stuff.”

“ _Bad stuff_ ,” Suga mocks him, wearing an expression Daichi’s never seen him wear before while taking a step back. “Are you six fucking years old? Go back to work, Daichi. Pretty boys like you aren’t cut out for my kind of life.”

Daichi laughs in spite of himself, because everything feels so horrible and _wrong_ and if he doesn’t laugh, he’ll scream; the thing that’s trying to claw its way up his throat will break free. So instead, he laughs, and says, “You just called me pretty.”

“It wasn’t a compliment,” Suga hisses, eyes narrowed and jaw tight.

Daichi thinks he’s lost his goddamn mind, because the laughter keeps bubbling forward from his mouth, even though something deep inside of him is screaming at him to shut up, to shut down, to back off. His flight instinct is bouncing around somewhere near his heart and he wonders when on earth Suga started to make him want to run.

 _Wham_!

His head snaps back with a heavy thwack and pain explodes across his cheek, making him swear and stumble backwards.

“ _Fuck!_ Did you just _punch_ me?!”

If Daichi had been looking, and not cradling his face in one hand, eyes on the ground, he would have seen the shock that dances across Suga’s face like the flame of a candle, bathing him in something contrary to his words for the slightest of moments, something soft, something from _before_. But then the shock is gone again, replaced by the cold spite that he’s worn for so long.

“That’s what you get.” Suga glares, folding his arms over his chest. People around them are staring, and someone runs up and puts a hand on Daichi’s back. They’re wearing the same uniform as he is, the stupid white shirt, black pants, and red apron with the same smiling nametag that Daichi has.

“Sawamura, you okay?” they ask, leaning over him with concern on their face clear as day. Daichi waves them off with a hand on their shoulder.

Suga can feel eyes on him, gazes peeling back his walls to expose the demons within and he turns on the spot, forcing his skin to stop crawling, and he gives Daichi one last withering look.

“Stop following me,” he says, tone bitter, and he lets his feet carry him away, wanting to be anywhere but here.

  
  


= = =

  


The last twenty minutes replay in Daichi’s mind like a broken DVD when Iwaizumi drags him to the back of the shop and makes him sit down. There’s movement happening around him while he sits, but it’s almost like it isn’t real, like he’s dreaming.

Then fingers snap in front of his face and something cold presses against his cheek.

“I _said_ ,” Iwaizumi grumbles in that gravelly voice of his, “it doesn’t look like you need stitches.”

“Stitches?” Daichi echoes, hand reaching up to feel around his swelling face. When he draws it back, there’s a bit of blood on his fingers.

“Yeah, you’re bleeding. How hard did that guy hit you?” Iwaizumi grabs Daichi’s hand and forces him to take hold of the compress before he stands back up. “Who the hell was that, anyways?”

“An old friend.”

“A friend?”

Daichi throws Iwaizumi a dirty look from where he’s sitting.

“What?” Iwaizumi replies, hands up in defense of himself. “If he’s really your friend, he’s got a funny way of showing it.”

“That’s what the ‘old’ part referred to.”

“I see.”

Daichi doesn’t comment, but he doesn’t really think Iwaizumi sees.

“So what’s his name?”

“Sugawara Koushi.”

“ _Ohhh,_ ” Iwaizumi says, putting a hand under his chin as if in thought.

“Oh?”

“I’ve heard of him before, I think. Mind you, the source in question isn’t exactly someone I brag about knowing.” Iwaizumi raises an eyebrow. “I won’t judge, though. It’s not really my business. But if he punches you again I can’t say I won’t hit him back.”

Daichi smiles weakly. “I’m not expecting to see much more of him, so don’t worry.”

He wishes saying that out loud didn’t make his stomach twist into a knot.

Iwaizumi gives him a calculating look, but Daichi can’t find himself feeling concerned. Iwaizumi Hajime can’t even figure out his own feelings, so Daichi is pretty confident that he doesn’t have to worry about his coworker coming to any big conclusions.

The bell to the front door of the store rings, then, and they both look up when they hear a voice filter through the cracks in the door to the back room.

“ _I_ _wa-chan~_!”

“I’ll get it,” Iwaizumi mutters, sighing and forcing his hands deep into his pockets.

“Don’t slip poison into his drink today, Iwaizumi. He still has six more punches left on that free drink card and I want it full when I steal it from him,” Daichi jokes as the other walks away.

“Dai-chan! I heard that!” he hears Oikawa yell indignantly, and he grimaces with pain when he laughs at Oikawa’s petulant tone, pressing the ice against his cheek just a little harder.

  


= = =

  


The morning dawns brightly and beautifully, and although Daichi doesn’t remember leaving his window open, he’s glad he did; birds are singing in the tree out in front of his house, a crisp spring breeze is making the curtains wave gently. He hears Hiro and Honoka shuffling around in the kitchen, going about their morning routines.

Daichi stops by the bathroom on the way to the kitchen, splashing cold water in his face after he washes his hands. The bruise Suga gave him is fading, finally, and it doesn’t hurt when he pats it gently.

“G’morning,” he says to his siblings around a yawn.

“Morning Daichi-nii,” hums Honoka. He supposes that Hiro says good morning to him as well, though it’s hard to tell since his little brother says it with his mouth full of omelet. “Hiro, don’t talk with food in your mouth.”

“I was just about to say the same thing,” Daichi teases with a smile. “Are you sure I’m the older sibling?”

“Well, considering the fact that _I_ make breakfast, I’m not so sure,” Honoka says back, but it’s as if something’s twisted in her voice, making something heavy settle over Daichi’s lungs.

Daichi scoops his mother’s plate of food off the kitchen counter and frowns to himself.

“Honoka, if you want, I can get up and make breakfast from now on. You are already helping out a lot by taking your brother to and from school for me.”

Hiro says something that’s once again muffled by omelet.

“Don’t talk with your mouth full, Hiro,” they say together. Hiro grins.

“It’s fine, Daichi-nii. I’m used to it.” Again, there is a bitterness to her tone, and Daichi feels guilt well up in his stomach, threatening to swallow him whole. “Go give Mom her medicine already.”

Daichi swipes the bottles off the countertop, tucking them into his pants’ pocket so he can carry a glass of water in the hand that isn’t holding the plate of breakfast. Then he’s off to his mother’s room.

He nudges the door open with some careful maneuvering and pads into the dark room.

“Mom?” he calls softly, hoping she’s awake already. He always feels bad for waking her up, though he has to some mornings. She’s supposed to take her pills at regular intervals to keep the pain at bay.

Daichi sets the food down on the bedside table and walks over to slide the curtains open a bit. He opens the window too, for good measure, feeling that some fresh air will do his mother some good. It has been a while since she was able to go outside at her leisure.

“Mom, wake up. Gotta take your medicine. You’d better not… _Mom!_ ” His teasing dies in his throat when his eyes pass across his mother’s form, which he couldn’t quite make out in the previous darkness. She’s half on, half off the bed; it’s clear she tried to get up in the middle of the night and couldn’t manage it.

Daichi rushes forward, his hands slipping under her arms to pull her back onto the bed fully, but as soon as he touches her, he knows everything is _wrong_ . She’s stiff to the touch, and cold, _so cold_ , and this can’t be happening, not today, not ever. He fumbles halfway through lifting her and lets out a cry when her limp form slides off of the bed and onto where he’s kneeling on the floor, and seconds later he finds himself trapped under his mother’s corpse.

Her _corpse_.

And the smell, so inherently her that he aches, like linen and honey; but there’s something else there, too, something sickly sweet that makes everything that is Okay In His Life turn to hot ash in his mouth – and it’s death, it’s death and he’s never been good with that, never been able to handle it.

The screams stick in his throat and he’s choking on them, laying there pinned underneath honey and linen and death next to the meal she knocked to the floor on her way down; the smell is smothering him, he can’t breathe, he’s going to die too and his siblings will be all alone, they’ll be orphans, he _failed_ -

Daichi’s eyes snap open where he lays in bed and he registers two things: one, it’s still night out, two, he is _suffocating_. He jerks upright and fists his hands in the sheets, eyes wide and the edges of his vision dark as he tries to suck in air, but it feels like there are bands wrapped tight around his chest. Tears spring up in the corners of his eyes as he scrambles for rational thought – it was a bad dream, he’s alive, he should breathe, his mother is alive.

But _is_ she? What if she died in the middle of the night, trying to call for help, no one to hear her, no one to save her, alone…

A new wave of panic crashes over him and he throws off the covers, nearly tripping over them in his haste to get to the door. He makes sure to be quiet, at least, while he passes his siblings’ rooms, and then he’s at his mother’s plain white door and it feels like he’s about to face a dragon and not his own mother.

But Daichi opens the door anyway.

He holds his breath after entering (even though he’s only _just_ caught it), listening closely. And he hears it, his mother’s soft and steady breathing, and wishes it would unwind the coil in his chest that’s wrapped tight around his heart just like it did when he was a child, but it doesn’t.

Because his mother _is_ dying, even if she isn’t dead yet. And the thought of her dying alone and suffering terrifies him so much that the dream feels like an omen, not a nightmare.

Maybe it’s that thought that makes him sink down to the floor against the door of his mother’s room, feeling like the most selfish guardian angel that ever existed.

And he stays like that well past three into the morning, when the only change is his head drooping onto his shoulder as he falls asleep again, knees pulled up to his chest, still sitting there against the white wooden door.

The next morning (and all the mornings that follow, he decides), he makes sure to be the one who makes breakfast for his family.

  


= = =

  


A pale blue two-story house sits in the middle of its street, shutters a deep navy (although in the darkness of twilight, they look black). All of the lights in the house are off, save for one, tucked up on the second story over the porch, which extends out from the front of the house with a little roof of its own.

This is Koushi’s usual route for sneaking into Kageyama’s house.

“You could have just rung the doorbell, Suga-kun,” Tobio says without looking up from his assignment. Koushi grins at him, slips through the open window and onto his desk with practiced ease. Tobio slides the window shut behind him as Koushi hops onto the carpet from his perch.

“That would have been boring, Tobio.”

Kageyama shrugs. “I guess? But people would be less likely to call the police if they saw you ringing my doorbell at one in the morning.”

“Oh please. I was careful.” Koushi grins at Kageyama, who sighs. “What are you doing?”

“Homework. I have a test next week.”

“What kind of homework?” Koushi asks. He won’t admit that he misses school, not out loud, but he thinks Kageyama knows anyways, because he entertains Koushi’s interest in his coursework whenever it comes up between them in conversation.

“Biology. We’re studying the different types of organic molecules.”

Koushi flops on Kageyama’s bed, spread-eagled across the covers. “Lipids, carbs, nucleic acids, and proteins, right?”

“…Right. How the hell do you remember that?” Tobio glares down at the book in front of him as if it has personally betrayed him.

“I used to be a good student, Tobio-kun, before I turned into a scoundrel.” Koushi’s voice turns sour towards the end.

“Suga-kun…” Kageyama offers him a guilty look, and it’s what finally breaks the strained air between them.

“It’s fine, Tobio,” Koushi mumbles into a pillow, fingers tracing patterns into the fabric. “M’just tired. S’been a long week.”

“Yeah?”

“Mmm. Almost got caught stealing a pair of shoes yesterday. I had to make up some story about checking to see how they would fit in my bag with my clothes for when I go to the gym. The attendant just walked away when I smiled at her. People are so… They see what they want to see.”

“They see what you let them see,” Tobio adds. Koushi hums in thought.

“I punched Sawamura Daichi in the face today.”

Kageyama is silent for so long in response to this that Koushi rolls back over to look at his expression – he’s staring blankly.

“What?” Koushi prompts, his tone a little bit whiney.

“You punched Sawamura-san? But why? I thought you two were friends.”

“Friends?” Koushi echoes, bitterness curling around his tongue.

“Yes. You two were close in high school, right?”

“That was high school, Tobio-kun. You know, four years ago, when he still gave a shit about my existence?”

“Doesn’t he still?”

“What does it matter? He doesn’t talk to me for four years while he’s off partying and having the time of his life at whatever university he went to,” Tokyo, he thinks, “then he just shows up one day and acts like he never fucking left.”

“He didn’t talk to you at all?”

“No. Not one fucking word.” Koushi taps his fingers on the pillowcase, trying to calm himself down. “He left. I don’t owe him anything.”

Tobio blinks at Koushi, twirling his pencil around in his hand. “You sound confused, Koushi-kun.”

Koushi clenches a fist. Of _course_ he’s confused. But he doesn’t reply, and after a length of silence, Kageyama goes back to his homework, and Suga’s fingers keep tapping.

He lays back and listens to the sound of Kageyama’s pencil scratching across the paper as he completes his assignment. Occasionally Tobio mutters something about enzymes to himself, and it puts Koushi at ease. It’s the sound of normalcy, something Koushi hasn’t heard for a long while. Not since before everything, not since the time when he would do his homework at the kitchen table of his home, his mother bustling around him with pots and pans and a smile on her face, chattering about this and that.

It takes him back to a long lost time.

When Koushi’s world came crashing down around him, he put up new walls, made of iron, impenetrable. No one could break them anymore. But Kageyama had been an anomaly – Suga had needed to build around him. Tobio was a constant that he had never accounted for, because Tobio had never once cast him aside, no matter how bad he got, no matter the things he did, laws he broke, bridges he burned. He seemed to understand at some deep, unconscious level that Koushi had cleared the space around his heart of anything he deemed a threat.

But Tobio was not, and is not, a threat to Koushi’s heart. So he stays, and Koushi lets him.

Some nights Koushi shows up with fire in his eyes and bruised knuckles and asks Kageyama to pass a volleyball between them. Those nights, Kageyama doesn’t ask questions. Sometimes he tells Koushi about his latest game, when he senses that Koushi needs a distraction. Other times they pass the time in silence, and Koushi absorbs the way Tobio spends his evenings. It’s almost like he’s living vicariously through his old kouhai. And some ways, Suga is, and he supposes Tobio knows this as well. Kageyama is content to listen, even though he has never truly been good at giving advice.

Sometimes it’s enough to know that he’s just there, Koushi thinks.

And he thinks about Daichi, too, tonight, when Tobio flips his assignment over to work on the back. He thinks about how fucked up his life has become and about how he could communicate that in a way that Daichi could understand.

Well, he thinks he _might_ have gotten part of his point across when he punched Daichi in the face.

But that aside, Koushi thinks, curling a fist into blue sheets, why would Daichi be any different? He glares down at the patches scars that mar the pale skin of his hands. Tobio is the only one who didn’t cast Koushi aside; not on nights when Koushi was half out of his mind with drugs he never wanted to take, not on days when Koushi jumps at the quietest of noises and slightest of movements, not even the times when Koushi tells him the terrible things that he’s done.

There are pieces of Koushi’s heart that have been crushed so thoroughly he doesn’t trust anyone to hold them. There are black spots on his soul so dark he can’t wash them out, and a charred skeleton of the person he used to be in his closet. How could anyone love him if they knew him completely? How could he be so stupid to let them even try?

Koushi swallows back a sob and allows the truth to sink in. Daichi is chasing after the ghost of an innocence long lost, of the person Koushi used to be.

And Koushi can never be that good person again.

  


= = =

  


Daichi’s routine falls into something regular and rarely broken. Each morning he wakes up, makes breakfast and lunch for the family, and brings his mother her medicine and meal. While Hiro and Honoka finish getting ready for school, he puts together their bentos, as well as one for his mother. It pains him to do so, because he’d rather be around to check on his mother during lunch time, but his part-time job usually gets in the way.

Daichi works every morning from eight until three, Monday to Saturday. After getting off of work, he runs whatever errands he needs to get done and stops by the library, and then heads home in order to start working on dinner. Hiro and Honoka get home around 5, and he’s forever grateful for his younger sister, who makes sure that the youngest Sawamura gets home safely from school – he doesn’t have the time to do it himself. Some evenings he does himself a favor and makes extra food that can carry over to the next day’s lunches. They eat and he brings his mother her pills for the evening, as well as her dinner, and they usually talk about his day. He asks her what books she’d like to read and writes down a note on his phone so he can pick them up for her the next day – usually non-fiction, his mother had always ached to travel, and she loves to learn more about the world. It’s guilt and sorrow that drives him to give her at least this, in her final time with them. The doctor gave her only months to live, but that was months ago, so he’s always on edge. _It could be tonight. Tomorrow. A year from now._

He makes sure the kids do their homework and take their baths, and bids the pair goodnight at around eight or nine in the evening. Then he gives himself a small break watching TV while he works out in order to help burn off some of the nervous energy that seems to drape over him like a low-hanging cloud.

He goes to bed at eleven, and dreams the same dream he now dreams every night. In the dream, he’s laying in his bed in the dark. Suddenly, he hears screams coming from the other room. Daichi moves to sit up, to go help whoever is screaming – sometimes it’s his mother, sometimes it’s his siblings, and other times, it’s Suga – but the covers are too heavy to move. He’s trapped, while the covers grow heavier and heavier, and the screaming gets weaker and more desperate, calling for him, “ _Daichi, Daichi, help me, Daichi. Don’t leave me_!” Finally, when the sheets in the dream weigh so much that he can hardly breathe, he is usually plunged back into reality, gasping for breath and sweating.

He stumbles his way down the hallway into his mother’s room, waits until he can hear her steady breaths float across the empty air between them, and sinks down against the door as has become routine for him now. He usually doesn’t fall back asleep; whether it’s due to his fears or due to a burning desire to protect his loved ones, he does not know.

The dream haunts him in his waking hours; it lingers in the corners of his lips and in the shadows under his eyes, souring his pleasant expressions.

“You look like shit,” Iwaizumi tells him sometimes, but it’s not to be mean. He’s worried about Daichi, but Daichi reminds himself that _he_ isn’t the one who needs taking care of, in this situation. He isn’t the priority.

“I’m fine, just have a lot going on,” Daichi says with one of those hollow smiles. Iwaizumi raises an eyebrow and folds his arms across his chest.

“If you need anything, don’t hesitate to ask, okay?”

“Iwaizumi Hajime, are you worrying about me?” Daichi teases, avoiding the question altogether.

“Maybe I am.” Iwaizumi’s cheeks turn a little pink, which endears him to Daichi even more. “Seems like I’m surrounded by people who need taking care of. I mean, have you _seen_ that Trashykawa?”

Their days continue as normal after that, and Iwaizumi usually leaves him alone about it for the rest of their shared morning shift, especially when Oikawa turns up for his regular caffeine fix.

He doesn’t exactly like where his life has ended up so far, but he supposes it could be worse. He’s managing. Daichi guesses that ‘managing’ is the most he can ask for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you can find me [here](https://twitter.com/koushichu) on twitter! 
> 
> i'd also like to thank Delaney, Mochi, and Cattsun, who have kept me motivated while I had to wait to post this. <3
> 
> [and yes, Lah Tascha, the second half of this chapter is new to you, because i forgot to add it to the doc, i am a chump idiot, but i hope you enjoy reading all the same ; ) ]


	3. this is not my home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daichi really just wants to help. The problem is, he's trying to help someone he doesn't really know anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A MILLION MORE THANKS TO MY BETA, LAH TASCHA! Here's her [twitter](https://twitter.com/shittygomu)! o(-( where would I be without her...
> 
> This fic is the brainchild of myself and [witchy](http://cantriix.tumblr.com/), whose works you can read [here](http://archiveofourown.org/users/bruixa/pseuds/bruixa)!
> 
>  **Content warning:** This chapter contains blood! And wound treatment! Please be aware of this as you proceed! I'm not a nurse, or a doctor, or anything of the sort, so I can't exactly vouch for the accuracy of the medical things in this chapter. Thanks for your patience, and I hope you enjoy!!

Daichi makes his way home from work after a particularly slow afternoon. Iwaizumi punches him on the shoulder and tells him to go take a nap as they both hang up their aprons in the back room. He smiles and lets himself laugh, even though there’s no way he’ll be able to rest this afternoon with the mountain of laundry that he still needs to sort and wash.

 

“See ya tomorrow,” Iwaizumi tells him with a warm smile, and Daichi nods, waving, before they part ways at the door.

 

In the past, Daichi probably would have taken the bus, but lately he’s been trying to spend less money on things he doesn’t really need to spend it on. Besides, the fresh air makes him feel a fraction more alive. The sun shines between drifting clouds, the breeze whispering hints of the approaching summer.

 

He’s passing two apartment complexes a few blocks from his neighborhood when something in the alleyway catches his eye – a flash of silver peeking out from beneath navy fabric. Daichi does a double-take.

 

“Suga?”

 

The person laying on the ground doesn’t stir as Daichi approaches, and then he sees something that makes his heart turn to ice in his chest.

 

There’s blood on the pavement, leaking from a cut on the back of Suga’s forearm, which is already like a patchwork quilt of old scars. Daichi crouches beside him, tentatively nudging Suga’s shoulder.

 

“Suga, wake up, please,” Daichi pleads, feeling himself quickly stirring up into a panic. He takes a closer look at the wound – it’s not terribly deep, but it isn’t shallow, either. A slow trickle of dark red oozes from the cut onto the ground below. _How long has he been laying here?_ A rip fills the air as Daichi tears off one of his long sleeves without second thought, his first priority to stop the bleeding. He winds the grey fabric around Suga’s arm, tucking the end underneath to make sure it stays in place.

 

Daichi presses the back of one hand against Suga’s forehead, checking for a fever (he doesn’t find one; Suga’s skin cool and slightly damp). He’s no doctor, but Daichi’s pretty sure Suga needs to go to a hospital with a cut like that.

 

Since waking him hasn’t proved to be very successful thus far, Daichi braces his back and scoops Suga up and into his arms, lifting with everything he’s got until the other is cradled against his chest. He tries to remember where the nearest bus stop is; he’s not sure he can carry Sugawara all the way to the hospital himself. Daichi crosses the empty street and starts backtracking the way he came on the opposite side of the road.

 

Suga’s head flops with each step and Daichi winces sympathetically, adjusting his grip so that his head is pillowed against Daichi’s shoulder instead. Silver blonde hair tickles his cheek, and he wishes he were experiencing it under different circumstances so that he could appreciate how soft it is (just as soft as it was four long years ago).

 

Suga stirs in his arms, just slightly.

 

“Suga?” Daichi calls in a low voice. “Are you awake now?”

 

“Hurts,” whispers Suga, his voice so empty of hatred and resentment that it makes Daichi suck in a breath in surprise.

 

“I know. I’m taking you to the hospital.”

 

“No. No hospital. Wanna go home.”

 

Suga does the unthinkable, nuzzling against the curve of Daichi’s neck, and Daichi almost drops him out of pure shock. Is this seriously the same guy who gave him a black eye a few weeks ago?

 

“You should see a doctor.”

 

“ _Home_ ,” Suga insists stubbornly, and he says it in the same tone that Suga used to use when the first years would stay too late at practice. Maybe it’s this that makes Daichi turn around for the second time today, sighing and recovering his steps once again.

 

“Alright. Home it is.”

 

He remembers the path to the Sugawara family home like the back of his hand – he’s walked it more times than he can count back when he and Suga used to walk to and from school together with Asahi. They’d teased Asahi every time he woke up late, just as Daichi had teased Suga for the same exact thing minutes earlier. Daichi was the only morning person out of the three of them, and plenty of mornings he’d left his own house early to make sure Suga wasn’t sleeping through his alarm clock again. He remembers, fondly, how Suga would wake like the flip of a light switch – once he was up, he was at one hundred percent.

 

Daichi almost drops Suga a second time when he jerks upright in his arms two blocks away from his house.

 

“What are you doing?” he demands, pushing against Daichi’s chest with his uninjured arm. “Put me down!”

 

“Suga, relax. I’m taking you home. I found you bleeding in some alley on my way home- hey!” Daichi jerks his head back as Suga’s hand comes flying at it from the side. “Stop it! You’re going to make yourself start bleeding again!”

 

“Put me the fuck down, Daichi.”

 

“I will when we get to your house. Would you chill out already? I’m not going to hurt you.”

 

“Like I haven’t heard that one before. God, you have some kind of hero complex, don’t you?” The venom and anger is back at full force in Suga’s tone, and Daichi instantly feels himself shrink inside. “Just leave me alone. I don’t live at that house anymore, anyways. Not that _you’d_ know.”

 

Daichi slows to a standstill, releasing a long, drawn out sigh.

 

“Finally. Now let go of me, I don’t- DAICHI, STOP!”

 

Suga’s legs flail in front of Daichi from his new position, thrown halfway over Daichi’s shoulder. But Daichi isn’t listening, and he’s ignoring the thump of a closed fist against his back.

 

“Suga, just give up already. My arms are tired.” His words are hollow.

 

“They wouldn’t be tired if you’d put me down like I told you to do,” Suga snaps, the sound of his voice muffled against Daichi’s back. “I don’t need you to do any of this for me.”

 

“Who says I’m doing it for you? I won’t be able to sleep tonight if I don’t make sure you’re all right. So just shut up and let’s get this over with.”

 

“Fine.”

 

Five minutes of walking later finds them at Daichi’s house. He fiddles with the key for a minute and shoulders the door open. Daichi doesn’t even bother kicking his shoes off before he carries Suga to the bathroom.

 

“I hope someone saw you and called the cops.”

 

“It’s the middle of the work day. No one probably even saw me carry your scrawny ass back, and if they did, they probably recognized me, so they wouldn’t call anyways.”

 

“You’re such a goody two shoes.”

 

“I’m going to take that as a compliment.” Daichi lets Suga down and points to the toilet for him to sit down. He fishes around in the cabinet for a few minutes before he finds the first aid kit. “What do you need to get yourself cleaned up?”

 

“Just whatever is in there. And get me a needle.”

 

“A needle? Seriously, Suga?”

 

“I told you to give me a needle, Daichi, not your opinion,” Suga snaps, unwinding the fabric around his arm.

 

Daichi rolls his eyes and leaves the bathroom, heading to a hallway closet to grab his mother’s old sewing kit. While he’s out, he ducks his head into his mother’s room.

 

“Mom? I’m home. Do you need anything?”

 

“Welcome home, Daichi! No, no, I’m good. Did anything interesting happen today at work?”

 

“Oh, no. Just the typical nonsense that comes with Oikawa and Iwaizumi interacting. I swear, they’re both so oblivious to each other’s feelings…” Keiko laughs appreciatively. She’s heard a lot about Daichi’s coworker’s struggles through him. “Anyways, I’m going to go take care of a few things. You have your phone, right?”

 

“Of course, honey. I’ll let you know if I need anything.”

 

“Okay.”

 

Daichi ducks back out of the room, tucking the sewing kit up under his arm. When he reenters the bathroom, he sees Suga’s face pinched up as he disinfects the cut with his free hand.

 

As soon as Suga notices that he’s back, the tension in the room seems to solidify into something suffocating. It sparks around the air between them like the threat of lightning in a thunderstorm.

 

Daichi takes a deep breath and sets the lid on the counter, holding out the tin towards Suga. “Pick whichever one you want.”

 

Suga starts pawing around the container until he finds what he’s looking for, pulling out a needle and holding it up to look at it in the light. He seems satisfied with it, because he lowers his hand and pinches it with his thumb and index finger until it’s bent into the shape of a loose hook.

 

“Were you just talking to yourself in the hallway?”

 

Daichi blinks. He’s about to say _No, I was talking to my mother_ , but if the past month has shown him anything, it’s that Suga doesn’t care. The urge to protect his mother wins out over the desire to seem normal to Suga, and he finally settles on shrugging in reply.

 

“Does it matter?”

 

Suga narrows his eyes at Daichi, and then looks back down to his hand, where he’s got a container of floss. Daichi doesn’t remember there being floss in the first aid kit, but he guess Suga helped himself while he was away. It should probably bother him that Suga was digging around in his things without asking, but he again reminds himself that the silver-haired boy sitting near him doesn’t care. It’s hard to reconcile the past Suga with the present one.

 

“Shtop shtaring a’ me, Dai-chi,” Suga mumbles, the loose end of floss pinched between his upper teeth and bottom lip as he draws it out of the container with his uninjured arm. The string snaps with a twitch of his wrist and Daichi folds his arms over his chest, turning away again.

 

“I still think you should see a doctor about this. You can’t _seriously_ be thinking it’s a good idea to stitch yourself up with floss, right? This is just a temporary fix, right?” Daichi gives him a stern look without facing him directly, watching out of the corner of his eye as Suga struggles to thread the needle with a good hand and a bad one. He must have a lot of practice with sewing, because soon enough he manages it, and tucks the flossed needle into his bad hand, holding it there while he reaches into the first aid kit and digs out some hydrogen peroxide and cotton wipes. He tears open the packaging with his teeth and spits the wrapping out onto the floor.

 

“Right, and pay for the stitches with what insurance, exactly?”

 

“Well, your parents-,” Daichi starts, but Suga cuts him off with a glare, pressing the cotton pad against the bottle of disinfectant and tipping it so that the wipe absorbs the liquid.

 

“From where, exactly, did you get the impression that I’m on good terms with my parents anymore? Anyway, this is far from the first time I’ve given myself stitches.”

 

“Is that where all those scars came from?” Daichi asks, before Suga can continue, and also before he thinks better of his question.

 

Suga stills, his eyes fluttering shut while he inhales once and exhales slowly.

 

“No.”

 

“Then where-”

 

“None of your business,” Suga interrupts, and then he brings the cotton against his wound, hissing and biting his lip as it flushes out any germs that might have gotten in, the excess liquid running pink to the floor. Daichi wants to step towards him, to provide some sort of physical support. Seeing Suga in pain sends something hot through his midsection, concern rising through him like a floodwater, nearly choking his self-restraint. “Fuck, that stings.”

 

Daichi watches Suga pick up the needle and makeshift thread, watches as he grits his teeth and sets his shoulders.

 

“Suga, this is really stupid.” Suga sticks himself with the needle and Daichi groans. “How do you even know you’re doing them right? It doesn’t matter how many stitches you’ve given or done if you’ve done them all wrong.”

 

“I was majoring in nursing in university before I dropped out. I learned how to do stitches there, and I’m not a fucking idiot, Daichi, so you can go ahead and shut your mouth now.”

 

A thousand questions flit through Daichi’s mind all at once. Nursing major? But Daichi had thought Suga was going for education. When had he changed his mind? _Why_ had he changed his mind? Dropped out? Why? When?

 

His thoughts are interrupted by a steady buzzing sound coming from Suga’s front pocket. Suga grumbles in annoyance.

 

“Can you see who it is?”

 

“Um. Yeah, sure,” Daichi nearly stutters, reaching towards Suga with caution.

 

“I’m not going to bite you. Hurry up before it goes to voicemail.”

 

Daichi flushes, and closes the distance, trying not to think about Suga’s warmth as he slips the phone from his pants pocket as quickly and smoothly as physically possible. He glances at the screen.

 

“It’s Kageyama? As in…?”

 

“Yes, that’s Tobio. Pick it up, will you? I’m busy.”

 

Daichi swipes his thumb across the screen, pressing the phone to his ear. “H-hello?”

 

“You aren’t Koushi.” Kageyama’s voice is deep, and Daichi can’t help but chuckle at the absurdity of his life right now, and the fact that Kageyama is as blunt and forward as he ever was.

 

“No, it isn’t. Suga’s… busy. But you know me, anyways, it’s Sawamura Daichi.”

 

“Sawamura-san? Oh. Why are you with Koushi? Is he okay?” Kageyama speaks quickly, with the same rapidity that Daichi remembers him using back when discussing a particularly important volleyball concept.

 

“I’m fine, Tobio,” Suga calls, his voice somewhat echo-y against the walls of the bathroom.

 

“Oh. Okay.”

 

“He’s not fine,” Daichi corrects, frowning at Suga, who glares back at him. “He was bleeding in an alley when I found him.”

 

“I’m _fine_ ,” Suga insists, which makes Daichi roll his eyes.

 

“Bleeding? He’s awake now though?”

 

“Yes, he’s… hold on a second.” Daichi covers the mic of the phone, ignoring Kageyama’s protests. “How much am I supposed to tell him about this?”

 

“It doesn’t matter, Tobio knows about me. But he doesn’t need to get worried about something this minor,” Suga grumbles, pausing his stitching. “Just give me the phone, Dai- woah.” Suga had risen to his feet in the middle of his sentence, and finds himself swaying, his face paling and sweat breaking out across his brow.

 

“Sit back down,” Daichi says immediately, reaching forward with both hands to urge Suga to return to his previous position on the toilet, the phone tucked against his shoulder. “You’ve lost a lot of blood already, don’t push it.”

 

Suga flinches away from his touch, and Daichi drops his hands.

 

“Sawamura-san? What’s going on with Suga-kun?” Kageyama is all but shouting on the other end of the line, and Daichi almost drops the phone from where it’s pressed up against his ear.

 

“Kageyama, there’s no need to yell. He just stood up too fast, is all.”

 

“Ask him if I can go home with him,” Suga directs Daichi. “Ask him if he’ll come pick me up.”

 

Daichi nods. “He wants to know if you’ll come get him and bring him home with you.”

 

“Of course, I’ll leave right away!” There’s a shuffling on the other end of the line.

 

“Kageyama! Wait a second, you don’t even know where we are!”

 

The other end of the line is silent as the shuffling comes to a halt. “…Right. Where are you, then?”

 

Suga is frowning down at his arm again, glaring at the cut, which is bleeding again since he’s angered it with the needle and thread. Daichi gives Kageyama his address (which turns out to not be too far from Kageyama’s home) and they say their goodbyes.

 

“How are you not crying right now?” Daichi asks, wincing in sympathy at the next stitch. “Doesn’t that hurt?”

 

Suga shrugs, focusing on the task at hand. “High pain tolerance. S’okay. I didn’t come out on the worse end of this fight anyway. You should see the other guys.”

 

A shiver works its way down Daichi’s spine while he pictures Suga being surrounded by thugs, fighting his way out.

 

“How exactly-”

 

“You ask too many fucking questions, you know that?” Suga sighs in annoyance. “I’m tired of answering.”

 

Daichi wants to argue, but he thinks that will just make Suga hate him even more than he already does.

 

Suga finishes the last stitch a minute or two later, pulling the floss taut and discarding the needle on the counter. He starts fumbling with the loose end, obviously going for a knot, but struggling to tie it off with only one hand available to him.

 

“Here.” Daichi crouches down beside Suga, hands outstretched.

 

Suga’s hand drops the floss and smacks Daichi’s aside. “ _Don’t_. I don’t need your help. I can do it on my own.”

 

Suga’s words cut through Daichi like ice and seem to snap the last string holding him back from acting. Daichi smacks Suga’s hand right back before he can even pick the string back up.

 

“Why do you insist on struggling through everything all on your own?” he growls, his big fingers struggling at first with the thread. “Why can’t you just accept a little help here and there?”

 

“Because, first of all, I don’t _need_ anyone else _or_ their help. And second of all, no one _just helps_. Everyone always wants something in return, and I am done playing along with that game.”

 

Daichi double knots the end, careful not to tug on the amateur sutures. He doesn’t, however, let go of Suga’s hand; instead he grabs a second cotton pad and wipes away the dark blood that’s rolling down Suga’s pale skin and over the bumps of light pink scars.

“Maybe you’ve just been asking the wrong people for help,” Daichi says.

 

Suga’s eyes flick up to meet Daichi’s, burning with anger. “Maybe you don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about, and you should shut your mouth before I punch you in the face again.”

 

“Jesus, Suga, you don’t have to get so aggressive with me.” Daichi grabs one more cotton pad and some gauze. He gently sets the cotton over the stitches, feeling his heart tweak when he sees the hairs on Suga’s arm stand up, but he says nothing about it – he’s sure Suga would pull his arm away if he did.

 

“And you don’t have to run your mouth.” He frowns down at his arm, alabaster and pink against Daichi’s golden tan. “I don’t owe you for this, by the way. Don’t get any stupid ideas.”

 

Daichi stops winding the gauze around the cotton, feeling the anger build back up from nothing in an instant. “You could just say thank you, you know. If I was here to hurt you, don’t you think I would have left you in that alley?”

 

Daichi’s doorbell rings in the silence between them.

 

“It wouldn’t have surprised me if you did. Leaving me behind is your _m.o_., afterall.”

The hole is practically in the drywall before Daichi even consciously decides to put his fist through it. He can’t even feel the pain in his hand, yet. His breathing is erratic, shoulders and chest heaving with the effort to reign it all back in, to suck all the poisonous anger back from the hydrogen-peroxide-scented air that’s suffocating him once again.

 

 _I get it_ , he thinks. _I_ get _it. I fucked up. I’m sorry. Please, can we move on? Please, will you let me help you?_

 

“I’m going to get the door,” he snaps, leaving a wide-eyed Suga frozen in the wake of his stiff-shouldered exit.

 

Daichi’s hand shakes on the doorknob. It won’t do to terrify Kageyama upon seeing him for the first time in years, so he takes three deep breaths and rolls his shoulders.

 

He opens the door to Kageyama’s hand raised in the air, obviously preparing to knock again. The black-haired boy is taller than Daichi remembers him being, though his eyes are as piercing as ever and his face still holds a loose scowl. There’s something frantic in his expression, however, and Daichi steps back as Kageyama bows.

 

“Where is Koushi?” he asks, his voice urgent even while he’s still facing the floor.

 

“Uh, inside, the hallway to the right, the door directly a-…” he says, but is interrupted by Kageyama nearly bowling him over in his hurry to find Suga. Daichi blinks in surprise, and shuts the door before following. His movements stutter when he reaches the doorway to the bathroom; Kageyama has Suga wrapped in an awkward embrace, and a twist in his gut has Daichi backing away.

 

His mind scrambles ways to distract himself from the unpleasant feeling, and settles on finding some clothes that aren’t covered in dried blood that Suga can change into. He rummages through his closet and pulls out an old t-shirt and a pair of exercise shorts – they’re certainly not Suga’s style, but at least they’re clean.

 

When he gets back to the bathroom, Suga and Kageyama aren’t hugging anymore. He doesn’t know whether to be relieved, or to feel annoyed at himself for letting it bother him in the first place.

 

“I brought some stuff you can wear. And you’re welcome to use the shower as well, if you want,” Daichi says, eyes anywhere but on the others’ faces. Then, without waiting for a response, he backs out of the room again, his feet carrying him to the front door and out onto the porch.

 

Sinking down to sit on the cool, shaded concrete, Daichi heaves out a heavy sigh, pressing his hands against his face and rubbing at the pressure that’s building around his temples.

 

The door behind him opens up, making him jump, and Daichi’s surprised to see Kageyama sitting down next to him.

 

“He’s showering,” Kageyama says by way of explanation. Daichi hums in acknowledgement. “He won’t say so, but, thank you for taking care of him. And…” Kageyama rises, and before Daichi knows it, he’s bowing to Daichi. “I’m sorry for any trouble Suga-kun may have caused.”

 

Daichi blinks and quickly waves Kageyama off. “There’s no need to apologize, it wasn’t… Well, it was trouble, but nothing worth apologizing for. It’s okay, please stop bowing, Kageyama, it’s embarrassing.”

 

Kageyama lifts his head and gives Daichi a searching look before nodding, and sitting back down next to Daichi.

 

“You two are a lot closer than I remember you being back in high school.” Kageyama levels another one of those looks at Daichi, which has him stammering. “I, I mean, well, a lot has changed since high school, but, it’s just… are you two… you know?”

 

“No!” Kageyama rushes to answer. “No. He’s… become something of an older brother to me. I think. We aren’t together.”

 

“Sorry,” Daichi shakes his head. “It’s none of my business. But I don’t remember you ever hugging anyone before, and I don’t get the impression that Suga lets just _anybody_ hug him, you know?”

 

 _I feel replaced_ , Daichi thinks, but doesn’t say, because he doesn’t feel he has any right to.

 

“Oh, he doesn’t. Well, I guess. I’m still not good with most people. They confuse me.” He pouts. “But… I think I just became an exception to Koushi’s… distancing.”

 

“Distancing? Kageyama, I’ll be honest… I don’t understand any of what’s going on. What happened to Kou- to Suga?”

 

“It isn’t really my place to say. Nothing against you, Daichi-san, but, unless he gave me permission himself, I would feel like I was betraying his trust. He had a hard time, and he’s just doing his best now, and I try to be around whenever he wants me to be around.”

Daichi rubs his forehead again. “Kageyama, it’s so frustrating to be kept in the dark. I just want to _help_. Why can’t I help? Why won’t he let me?”

 

Silence builds between them for a bit, until Kageyama seems to have collected his thoughts.

 

“He doesn’t trust you anymore, I don’t think. You weren’t around when he needed you, and,” he ignores the weak protesting sound Daichi makes and continues, “however legitimate your reasons may have been, Suga-kun went through hell, and he did it alone. I don’t understand people, Daichi-san, I really don’t, and I know that. But if I had to make a guess, I think he _wants_ to trust you again. I think he’s afraid to.”

 

The words sink in, burning the things in their path as they travel to Daichi’s heart.

“Daichi-san, would it be alright if I got your e-mail? Just in case something like this happens again. If you do want to help Koushi, then, that makes us allies.”

 

Daichi offers Kageyama his phone with a nod.

 

“Just like back in high school?” he asks, smiling weakly as Kageyama types in his information. “Same side of the court?”

 

Kageyama’s face lights up with excitement. “Exactly!”

 

He hands the phone back to Daichi.

 

“Do you think we can win?”

 

He can practically see the gears turn in Kageyama’s head, strategizing in his own odd, Kageyama-ish way. And then Kageyama nods, and Daichi feels the tiniest weight lift off of his chest.

 

The door behind them opens and a rush of AC-cooled air drifts past them. Daichi knows it’s Suga (it can’t be his mother), but he doesn’t turn around to acknowledge him like Kageyama does. He’s too busy drowning himself in shame at the way he behaved towards Suga earlier. Daichi is better than putting holes in walls with his fists. Tears prick in the corner of his eyes. What’s _wrong_ with him lately?

 

He’s dimly aware of some sort of silent argument taking place beside him, but he doesn’t look over until Kageyama stands and moves back inside, while Suga takes his place with a pout and a huff of annoyance.

 

“He hasn’t-” Daichi has to pause and swallow back the lump in his throat that’s making his voice go all funny. “He hasn’t changed much.”

 

“No, he hasn’t,” Suga agrees, averting his eyes.

 

“Is that why you still like him?”

 

“Well, you haven’t changed either, and I don’t like _you_. I needed a best friend who was there for me.”

 

Daichi’s head turns so that his eyes are back on the pavement, feeling something heavy and painful settle bone-deep inside of him.

 

“…I’ll admit, that one was in bad taste,” Suga says, nudging Daichi on the shoulder.

 

“No, I deserved that,” Daichi answers, folding his hands together in his lap. He feels small, and somehow pathetic, ashamed of his past mistakes.

 

Suga rolls his eyes, bumping against Daichi again. “I didn’t come out here to join in on the Sawamura Daichi pity party, you know.”

 

His words ease up the knot that’s building in Daichi’s throat, and he offers Suga a half-hearted smile.

 

“What, you didn’t get the invitation? It must have gotten lost in the mail.”

 

Suga laughs softly in reply, and Daichi aches with how much he has missed that sound. Silence envelops them for a few minutes, each lost in their own thoughts. Finally, Daichi speaks again, his voice soft and low, full of feeling.

 

“I’m sorry.” He tries to put so much into those few syllables; sorry he wasn’t there, sorry he isn’t now, sorry for the hurt he’s caused and continues to create. Again, the back of his mind whispers at him, _it should be me in that bed, it should be me that is going to be taken away from the world_.

 

Suga tilts his head back, looking at the clouds slowly drifting across the sky, and exhales slowly, through his nose. Part of him wants to simply say, _‘it’s okay.’_ But he can’t. Because it’s _not_ okay, and forgiving means opening himself back up again. So instead, he decides to try and meet Daichi halfway.

 

“How come you fell off the face of the earth all this time? Would it really have killed you to call?” His words have no bite to them, for once, just honest inquiry.

 

“School. It sounds like a lame excuse, but it was so much more intense than I anticipated it being… The coursework overwhelmed me almost from day one.” Daichi shakes his head. There’s more to it than just school, but he doesn’t know how to make the truth come out from between his lips just yet. It’s still stuck deep inside him, wedged somewhere between his heart and throat. “It was stupid, and I regret it. If I could go back and change it all, I would. I wouldn’t have left Miyagi in the first place if I had known how stressful it would make everything. I wouldn’t have left if…”

 

 _If it meant losing you_ , the words go unspoken.

 

“I remember how you used to be before tests in high school,” Suga replies, his tone light. “You’d hunker down and study so hard you’d forget to eat.”

 

Daichi pushes down the guilt that comes along with telling a half-truth and smiles, because Suga isn’t wrong. “I guess that part of me has stayed the same. I guess we were both just caught up in our own things.”

 

Suga rolls his eyes again. “ _That’s_ an understatement.”

 

“So when did you decide to become a criminal?”

 

Daichi can see Suga’s eyes narrow as his head whips to face him, he can see how those narrow eyes melt into confusion at the teasing grin on Daichi’s face, and he sees when Suga’s mouth twists into an odd smirk. He wonders if he said the wrong thing.

 

“I didn’t ‘ _decide to become a criminal,_ ’ stupid. It just kind of happened.” Something in his tone tells Daichi that it absolutely did not ‘just kind of happen,’ but he’s afraid pressing Suga further will make the man close himself off once again. Suga’s hand folds over the front of his t-shirt – Daichi’s t-shirt – and Daichi feels concern wrap itself tightly around his heart.

 

“I know that I need to. To do better, with you; I know that, but I’m not sure how.”

 

Suga glances at him out of the corner of his eye, and Daichi meets his honey-eyed gaze.

“It would be _so_ much easier to just keep hating you, Sawamura Daichi,” Suga mutters, bitter and resentful.

 

“I don’t understand.”

 

“I know.”

 

Suga runs a hand through his hair, and Daichi’s fingers itch to do the same. Because even though Suga just admitted that he would rather hate Daichi, Daichi can’t deny how attractive he finds the other man. It’s stupid, and he knows it, but it’s Suga, and Daichi has almost always been stupid when it comes to Suga.

 

“If…” Suga begins, chewing on his lip in the pauses between his words. “If… I need you to stop looking for things that aren’t there, anymore, Daichi. Stop seeing the Sugawara Koushi you knew in high school. He isn’t there anymore. It’s just me.”

 

Daichi’s eyes widen in surprise, and he nods. “Okay,” he says, and the word comes out hushed.

 

“Okay,” Suga echoes, and their eyes meet once again, with the most peaceful moment they’ve shared in years passing between them.

 

Kageyama chooses that moment to reappear, and Suga heaves out a sigh of relief. There’s only so much reuniting with old friends that one person can handle in a day, after all.

 

“Tobio! Ready to go?”

 

Kageyama nods, looking between the two of them with a raised eyebrow. Suga and Daichi climb to their feet, and Daichi pulls Kageyama – taller, scowling Kageyama – into a half-hug, wrapping an arm around the boy’s neck and tugging him close with a grin. He catches a strange look on Suga’s face that makes his stomach do a funny flip, and drops his arm immediately.

 

“It was good to see you again, Kageyama. Don’t be a stranger, okay?”

 

“Of course not, Daichi-san.” Suga reaches up and ruffles Kageyama’s hair with his uninjured arm, which makes him frown and flush in embarrassment.

 

As they walk away, shoulders brushing together, Daichi can’t push away the pang of jealousy that makes his ribcage feel crowded in the worst, loneliest way.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to make a little point here... In case I didn't do a good job making it clear: Daichi doesn't really, fully know how he's feeling towards Suga just yet - there will be a point where he figures himself out though.
> 
> From now on chapter updates will slow - I have about 10k more completed at this point, but there's a lot more left that I need to write (and I need to keep up with school & work, too). Thank you to anyone who has stuck with me up until this point, and to those who continue to do so! <3 Feel free to chat with me [here](https://twitter.com/koushichu) on twitter! I spend an alarming amount of time talking about daisuga headcanons.


	4. tightrope walkers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “KOUSHI-NII!” Honoka shouts, and next thing Daichi knows, Suga’s standing in the entryway with Daichi’s little sister in his arms, looking bewildered. Kageyama hovers behind the pair, obviously not having any clue what he’s supposed to be doing about the loud kid hanging onto a very tense Sugawara.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is unbeta'd, because I DO BELIEVE that my lovely beta is very busy at the moment, however, Lah Tascha, feel free to scold me if I'm wrong. ; )
> 
> This fic is the brainchild of myself and [witchy](http://cantriix.tumblr.com/), whose works you can read [here](http://archiveofourown.org/users/bruixa/pseuds/bruixa)!
> 
> CHAPTER WARNINGS: uh.. none, really! there's talk about daichi's mom, but you all wouldn't be here in chapter 4 if you couldn't handle that, so. onwards, my good fellows <3

Daichi’s life continues as it had been, although there is one notable difference. Every Thursday morning, sometime during his shift, Suga drops by for a complimentary coffee and some sort of bakery item.

 

The first time this happens, Suga enters the shop with a vaguely abrasive, uncomfortable vibe, as if he’s willingly trespassed into enemy territory. Iwaizumi, expecting Oikawa, walks out to the front to greet him, telling Daichi to stay behind – he’s got this one.

 

Except not a minute later, Daichi can hear yelling from the front of the store, and he’s positive that whoever walked in isn’t Oikawa. The voices don’t sound even remotely playful, and Daichi practically launches himself to the front of the shop to see what’s going on.

 

Daichi’s eyes first land upon Iwaizumi’s back, his shoulders tense and raised like an angry cat fluffing itself up in front of a particularly aggressive dog. His fists are clenched at his sides, arms held slightly away from his body, as if to make himself look bigger. Under any other circumstances, Daichi would find the sight hilarious. But his eyes sweep to the person on the other side of the counter, and it’s anything but.

 

Suga’s face is curled up into a snarl, seemingly unphased by what Daichi is absolutely certain is a terrifying sight – genuinely angry Iwa-chan. He gestures enthusiastically with his words, throwing in at least one rude sign. Daichi is certain that if there wasn’t a counter in between them, Suga would be up in Iwaizumi’s face regardless of the potential consequences.

 

“I’m telling you to get the fuck out of this store before I call the authorities. I’m not just gonna sit by and let you harass my coworkers as you please, now get lost!” Iwaizumi growls.

 

“And _I’m_ telling _you_ that you don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about! Daichi can decide for himself whether or not he wants me in the store. The shit that went down is between the two of us, you have nothing to do with it, so butt out! What are you, his fucking mother?” Suga snaps right back.

 

Daichi looks between them, bewildered, and then, so dramatically that Daichi is positive he’d been standing outside long enough to realize what was happening, Oikawa pushes the door open with a flourish, shouting over the sound of the bell.

 

“OOO~, Dai-chan, is this the cute boy who punched you in the face?!”

 

All eyes snap to the tall man standing by the door, except for Daichi’s, which have moved back to Suga’s face.

 

“Yes,” he answers simply.

 

“Oikawa, don’t go near him, he’s dangerous,” Iwaizumi says, posture rigid, as if he’s going to vault himself over the counter within the next thirty seconds. Which, Daichi considers, probably isn’t that far from the truth in Iwaizumi’s mind.

 

“Oh, Iwa-chan, how dangerous could he be?” Oikawa has that manic glint in his eyes, the one that makes Daichi tense up and expect trouble. “After all, he didn’t really even do that much damage with his punch, it really could have been a lot worse if he hit harder~.”

 

“Oikawa,” Iwaizumi growls in further warning, and the scowl on Suga’s face doesn’t go unnoticed by Daichi.

 

“Would you like to find out how hard I can punch firsthand?” Suga asks in a low tone, and the hair on the back of Daichi’s neck stands up. The tension in the room is so thick he could cut through it with a knife, the men before him are practically circling each other, waiting for someone to make the first move.

 

Yeah, he should probably do something about this right now.

 

“Hey,” he interrupts in a tone usually reserved for settling arguments between his siblings. “Everyone just chill out for a second.” Iwaizumi throws Daichi a surprised look, and Oikawa is clearly hyper-analyzing every syllable that leaves his mouth (Daichi realizes with a tiny bubble of surprise that it isn’t just his concern for Iwaizumi that brought Oikawa into the middle of the fight, but concern for Daichi himself, as well).

 

Suga, on the other hand, is still glaring daggers at Oikawa.

 

“Dai-chan, do you need any help taking out the trash?” Oikawa asks sweetly, pointing at Suga.

 

“Oi, Shittykawa, shut up before you get yourself into trouble.” Iwaizumi turns to face Daichi fully. “What is it, Daichi?”

 

“Oikawa, Iwaizumi, this is Suga…wara.” He gestures between the three of them. “Suga, this is Oikawa and Iwaizumi.”

 

“A pleasure,” says Oikawa in a tone that says it isn’t a pleasure at all (Daichi never really expected Oikawa to be so protective, he had always assumed Iwaizumi had the corner on that market). Iwaizumi and Suga don’t comment, so Daichi continues.

 

“So,” he begins awkwardly, shoving his hands into his pockets, “yeah, Suga is the guy who punched me in the face. But, I probably deserved it-” he holds back a laugh at the single fervent nod of Suga’s head “-and he and I are. Working through it?” Suga nods again, folding his arms across his chest. “So, lay off. I’m okay with him being here. Water under the bridge.”

 

Suga obviously can’t resist sticking his tongue out at Iwaizumi, but to Daichi’s surprise, Iwaizumi just huffs out a laugh. Oikawa, on the other hand, is still eyeing Suga with mistrust.

 

“Whatever you say, Daichi. It’s nice to meet you, Sugawara.” Iwaizumi bows. “Sorry about before. I had to clean this guy up after you gave him that shiner is all, so I had some misgivings.”

 

Suga presses his lips together and nods, fingering the fabric of his shirt. “Okay.”

 

Daichi’s stomach twists at the awkward tension that is quickly moving in to replace the momentary peace that had settled between them. He doesn’t know what he expected Suga to do, but it certainly wasn’t this guarded, shift-eyed vibe he’s giving off, paired with an apparent lack of forgiveness towards Iwaizumi.

 

Thank god for Iwaizumi Hajime though, Daichi thinks, because all Iwaizumi does is chuckle at the non-response and turn to Oikawa, who is still frowning at Suga.

 

“Trashykawa, apologize for being an ass to Sugawara.”

 

“Don’t be rude! I was only coming to Iwa-chan’s aid, you were like a damsel in distress in front of a big scary dragon!”

 

“Oh, shut the hell up, I don’t need your gangly ass to come save me every time I get into an argument with a customer.”

 

“Hm, I guess not. After all, most of the time Dai-chan is here to save you for me!”

 

Daichi can almost sense Iwaizumi’s blood pressure rise, and it doesn’t come as any sort of surprise to him when Iwaizumi leans over the counter and yanks Oikawa down into a headlock.

 

“Stop trying to sidetrack me with your frivolous bullshit right now, you sadist freak, and just apologize. I don’t have all day to waste on kicking your ass into something that resembles a respectful human being.”

 

Suga stares at the pair with wide eyes, clearly torn between entertainment and confusion. Daichi is just enjoying the fact that he’s able to read his old best friend’s feelings flittering across his face again for however long it lasts.

 

Oikawa looks properly scolded for a moment, looking up at Iwaizumi. But then his eyes once again reach Suga, and they flicker back into life with a thousand new unreadable thoughts and emotions.

 

“Sorry, Suga-chan,” Oikawa says, bobbing his head in something that must be a bow, but is extremely restricted by the arm around his neck.

 

Suga nods, his body language back to its old inscrutability, save for the frown that creases his brow.

 

Iwaizumi lets Oikawa go, flushing under the intensity of the gaze he’s suddenly receiving from the brunette. “Okay!” he says, fumbling a little bit with his hands, as if he suddenly doesn’t know where to put them now that they aren’t on Oikawa. “That settles that then, great.”

 

“Always so eloquent, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa hums. Iwaizumi scowls.

 

Daichi feels like there’s a distinct lack of balance in the interactions, however. “Suga, aren’t you going to apologize to them, too?”

 

He wishes he hadn’t said anything at all, because the moment the last syllable leaves his mouth, Suga is glaring at him, blatantly annoyed.

 

“Why should _I_ apologize?” he snaps.

 

Daichi is taken aback.

 

“Well, you threatened to punch Oikawa in the face, for one, and you weren’t exactly being nice.” He wishes his voice could be strong, like it was earlier, but the further he gets into the sentence, the sharper Suga’s glare gets, and the exhaustion of trying to balance his sense of justice and his sense of self-preservation makes the words fizzle out towards the end.

 

“Since when was I _nice_?” Suga says, tone scathing.

 

 _High school_ , Daichi thinks and doesn’t say.

 

Iwaizumi interrupts before any more bombs can go off.

 

“Daichi, it’s okay. Really. I can sympathize with Sugawara’s desire to punch Oikawa in the face better than most,” Oikawa squawks indignantly and is swiftly ignored, “and I’d rather he be honest than nice anyways. No hard feelings.” Daichi looks at his coworker, unsure of himself, but Iwaizumi shakes his head. “It’s fine. I’m going to make Oikawa’s disgusting drink, and he and I are going to go outside while I take my break.” As he speaks, he’s already scooping ice into a blender.

 

Daichi nods, dimly, a little caught off guard by what a good person his coworker is, and a little afraid of speaking with Suga one-on-one after pissing him off again.

 

Oikawa and Iwaizumi head out the front door of the coffee shop, obviously in a hurry to get out of the awkward atmosphere that’s forming around Suga and Daichi. Iwaizumi makes eye contact with Daichi as the bell over the door rings, and Daichi nods at him, feeling just a little more at ease with the unspoken reminder that he’s not as alone as he feels.

 

“So,” Daichi says, hazarding a glance in Suga’s direction, “what can I get for you?”

 

Suga puffs out a breath, folding his arms across his chest, and Daichi allows himself to appreciate the way the three-quarter sleeves lay around his scarred forearms.

 

Suga taps a finger against his arm, glancing up at the menu. “A medium iced coffee, no sugar or cream, caffeinated.”

 

“Can I get a name for the order?” Daichi asks, attempting to tease, but Suga just stares at him, tense and uncomfortable. “Jesus, Suga, I’m joking, lighten up.”

 

Suga ducks his head, tapping his fingers again. A nervous habit? “Sorry.”

 

“It’s… okay,” Daichi says, nonplussed. He was not expecting an apology, especially after Suga so recently refused to give one for an actual offense. “I shouldn’t expect you to, you know, feel at ease yet.” He eyes the bandages still wrapped around Suga’s cut. “It’s still new, the two of us… I don’t know, talking to each other again, civilly? So, it’s okay. I’m just glad you’re trying.”

 

Suga looks Daichi directly in the face, his eyes searching and somehow, open. Then, he nods, and points down at the display case.

 

“Do you bake these here?”

 

“Uh, I don’t, but the owner does, yeah. I just make them look nice on the shelf.”

 

He smiles and plucks a cup from the stack of mediums, walking over to the coffee machines, where he presses a couple of buttons. While the machine is doing its thing, he slips his permanent marker out of the pocket of his apron and scribbles something onto the cup.

 

“Can I get the blueberry bagel? To go.”

 

“Sure. Want anything to go on it?”

 

“No, plain is fine.”

 

Daichi fills the drink with ice and coffee and snaps a lid on top, setting it down behind the register. He grabs a paper bag, shakes it open, and slides the glass on his side of the counter open.

 

“Does it matter which one?” he asks, a pair of tongs in one hand.

 

“The one up front looks fine to me.”

 

So that’s the one Daichi grabs, tucks into a bit of butcher paper, and slides it into the bag.

 

“How much is it?” Suga eyes Daichi tapping around on the register. Daichi looks up at him, eyebrows raised.

 

“Oh, don’t worry about it. It’s on the house.”

 

“ _Daichi_ ,” Suga growls, narrowing his eyes. “How much.”

 

“Free. Seriously, Suga, I’m not doing this out of pity. I get a free drink and snack every shift, and I’m not going to have any today. So I’m giving it to you.”

 

“I don’t need it.”

 

“I know you don’t.” Daichi prints out the receipt and tosses it into the wastebasket. Is he always going to have to fight Suga on things like this? “Just shut up and take the free food already.”

 

Hesitantly, Suga allows the paper bag and cup to be pressed into his hands.

 

 _He acts like he’s used to owing people something for this kind of thing_ , Daichi thinks to himself, and then his stomach bottoms out, because he realizes that this very well could be the truth of the matter. He tries to imagine a life where no favor may ever go without being repaid. How quickly the feeling of being in another’s debt could threaten to drown you. A life where everyone’s first reaction towards you is suspicion and hostility.

 

“I’m sorry for how Iwaizumi and Oikawa behaved earlier,” Daichi says. “They’re just… trying to look out for me, is all. They aren’t bad people, they’re just protective.”

 

Suga shrugs. “I’m used to people treating me like that, Daichi. Petty criminal, remember?” Daichi’s stomach twists.

 

“That doesn’t make it right.”

 

“Life doesn’t care about right or wrong. Just be grateful you have people willing to look out for you.” The bag wrinkles in his grip. “I need to go.”

 

Daichi doesn’t want the moment to end, not now, when Suga’s just alluded to something more than surface-level – thoughts and words that sounded closer to his heart than anything else he’s said so far. But this encounter, so much more casual than the ones before it, is new, and Daichi decides that he’ll be patient. He can be. So he doesn’t ask Suga if anyone is looking out for him, he doesn’t ask why he thinks the things he’s thinking, and he doesn’t even ask why Suga’s in a rush to leave.

 

“I’ll see you around?” Daichi asks, unable to keep the hopefulness out of his tone.

 

Suga nods once, looking down, and then leaves without a goodbye.

 

Twenty minutes and two customers later (at least, he thinks it was two customers? He’s been in sort of a daze since Suga walked out), he catches Iwaizumi kiss Oikawa on the cheek on his way back in from his break. Iwaizumi practically runs back into the building, frowning and flushed, while Oikawa stands stock-still outside the door, frozen in place with a hand on his cheek. Daichi’s heart warms, but he’s a good person, so he doesn’t let himself tease Iwaizumi about it.

 

“Sorry about earlier, with Suga,” Daichi says once they’re in the back of the store again, passing the time before the lunch rush starts.

 

“Oh, that was nothing,” Iwaizumi answers, looking over at Daichi with a grin. “You should meet my old kouhai, Kyoutani. Those two won’t ever meet if I have anything to say about it.”

 

“That bad, huh?”

 

“Worse.”

 

Daichi’s phone buzzes in his pocket.

 

 **From: Unknown  
** (8:36AM)  
  
 **> > **did you really put your email on my cup  
 **> > **this isnt a shoujo manga daichi

 

Daichi laughs out loud and types a quick response.

 

 **To: Suga**  
(8:36AM)

 **> >** It worked, didn’t it?

 

 **From: Suga**  
(8:40AM)

 **> >** touché.

 

 

 

= = =

 

 

 

Over dinner one evening, little Hiro sets down his chopsticks and looks up at Daichi, eyes wide.

 

“Onii-chan?” he asks, his childish voice small and clear.

 

“What is it?”

 

Honoka slurps up a long soba noodle and ignores Daichi’s scolding frown, sticking her tongue out at him.

 

“Is Mommy dying?”

 

Daichi stares at his brother’s open face, speechless. _Too young_ , he thinks. _Too young to understand death, too young to face it, and yet facing it anyways._ All three of them are. Honoka’s lips tremble and Daichi sets down his chopsticks, no longer hungry. He swallows the lump in his throat and answers his little brother with the truth, because no matter how badly he wants to protect Hiro and Honoka from reality, he can’t stop the weight of what’s coming for their family.

 

“Yes, Hiro. Mommy is very sick.”

 

Honoka’s chair squeals as she pushes it back and runs from the kitchen, hands cupped to her face to hide the pain and tears there.

 

“But she’ll get better, right?” Hiro asks, because he can’t understand.

 

“No. She won’t.” Daichi’s words quiver.

 

“Oh.” Hiro frowns down at his plate of noodles and meat. When he looks back up at Daichi, there are tears in his eyes. “Why?”

 

Daichi shudders an exhale, covering his face with his hands, willing the tears away, willing himself to be strong for his family. But it’s hard, so hard, because that’s his mom, too. That’s the woman who raised him, who taught him to tie his shoes and treat others with warmth and kindness. And he thinks to whatever god there is, _why?_ _Why is this happening to us?_

_Why couldn’t it have been me, instead?_

 

“I don’t know,” he mumbles, not trusting his own voice. “I don’t know, Hiro.”

 

That night Daichi ends up in his own bed, two pairs of small arms wrapped around his chest, his own draped protectively over the prone forms of his siblings, whose chests rise and fall with even breaths. They cried themselves out in his arms, a tiny family barely afloat in a sea of incomprehensible anguish.

 

“What the hell am I going to do?” Daichi whispers to the ceiling, tears rolling down his cheeks.

 

No one answers.

 

 

 

= = =

 

 

 

On an unseasonably cool Sunday afternoon, Daichi throws open the windows and starts cleaning the house from top to bottom. It used to be a tradition for his mother, every year after they had finally escaped winter’s cold clutches, to clear out the dirt and grime from every single corner she could reach.

 

 _“It’s like breathing new life into the house, Daichi!”_ she said to him every single year, wearing a bright smile and round cheeks.

 

So he gets up at the crack of dawn, pulling himself up off of the floor, hops into the shower and gets ready to give the place some new life. He dusts, sweeps, disinfects, washes, organizes, and vacuums while Honoka does her homework at the living room table and Hiro tries (read: fails) to help Daichi. He thinks that his little sister just loves being around the movement the cleaning day, soaking up the change from the stagnancy that has haunted the house like a lost ghost since their mother became bed-ridden.

 

A knock on the door interrupts the cleaning session. Honoka gets up from the table to open it, and Daichi fans himself, wiping his face with his shirt (the day might be cooler than usual, but it’s still warm enough to keep him sweating as he works). He jerks his head towards the door at the sound of a squeal.

 

“KOUSHI-NII!” Honoka shouts, and next thing Daichi knows, Suga’s standing in the entryway with Daichi’s little sister in his arms, looking bewildered. Kageyama hovers behind the pair, obviously not having any clue what he’s supposed to be doing about the loud kid hanging onto a very tense Sugawara.

 

“Hi, Honoka-chan,” Suga mumbles, reluctantly giving her a kiss on the brow, just like he used to when Honoka was six, and Suga was over at the Sawamura’s all the time. Daichi’s chest constricts. Suga leans over, letting Honoka’s feet touch the ground, and Kageyama watches with sharp eyes.

 

“Who is he?” Honoka asks, pointing at Kageyama. Daichi feels a tug at his side; Hiro is there, his arms wrapped around Daichi’s leg as he peeks over at the newcomers.

 

“This is my friend, Kageyama Tobio,” Suga says, unsure but not unkind, and Kageyama steps forward carefully, and bows.

 

“Nice to meet you,” Kageyama says, and after glancing at to Daichi as if to make sure it’s okay first, Honoka bows back and returns the greeting.

 

Daichi nudges the boy attached to his leg forward.

 

“Say hello, Hiro.”

 

“Hi. I’m Hiro. I’m five years old,” Hiro says, ducking his head once.

 

“Nice to meet you, Hiro,” Suga replies, and his voice twists while he speaks. “Last time I saw you, you were too small to even talk.”

 

“No way!” Hiro’s eyes widen, hands on his hips.

 

“Yes way.”

 

Honoka tugs Suga forward by an arm, dragging him towards the living room. Suga gives Daichi a somewhat cautious look as he lets her pull him, and Daichi nods a reassurance.

 

“Kou-nii-chan, help me with math please?”

 

“What kind of math?”

 

“Long division,” Honoka says, her nose wrinkled in disdain.

 

“Well, sure, okay. I can help with that.” Suga folds one arm across his body, his hand wrapping around his other arm just above the elbow. He looks incredibly uncomfortable, and Daichi doesn’t miss the way his finger taps against his arm there.

 

Daichi glances back to Hiro and Kageyama, and watches what appears to be a stare down between the pair. Kageyama is leaning back as if Hiro is a snake that could strike at any moment, while Hiro leans forward and squints his little eyes up at him. It goes on for so long that Daichi is about to intervene, but then Hiro seems to make up his mind.

 

“Can I call you Tobio-kun?”

 

Kageyama blinks down at Hiro. “Um. Sure.”

 

Hiro nods his head once and then reaches forward, grabbing Kageyama’s hand, and pulls him into the living room as well. Kageyama allows this, but he has apprehension written all over his face as he goes.

 

“What brings you two here?” Daichi asks, trying to sound neutral in spite of his curiosity and a small well of concern.

 

“We were out for a walk and ended up in the area,” Suga says, although there is clearly more on his mind that he isn’t saying from the way he bristles at the question. Hiro points to one side of the table and flops down on another, and now all four of the others are seated together in the middle of the living room. Suga reaches out to point to something on Honoka’s homework, and she frowns.

 

“Kou-nii, what happened to your hands?” she asks, picking one of them up and turning it over and over in her grasp, tracing the outlines of the splash of scar tissue across the surface.

 

“Honoka, that’s rude,” Daichi says, looking up from where he’s picked back up his dusting. Suga’s face has transformed into something that Daichi can’t quite place. Is it fear?

 

“Sorry,” she says, letting go.

 

“It’s okay,” Suga finally answers, his voice soft. “I just got a booboo a couple of years ago.”

 

Kageyama is watching Suga with an intensely concerned frown on his face. Or, he is, until Hiro slaps down a blank piece of scrap paper in front of him, oblivious to the serious tone of the conversation happening around him.

 

“Tobio-kun, can you draw me a doggie?”

 

It breaks the tense atmosphere in the room, and Honoka stops biting her lip. She reaches up to touch Koushi’s hair, longer than it was when she last saw him, and lets out a squeal.

 

“You pierced your ears!” she yells, her fingers tucking the strands behind Suga’s ear. Daichi looks up, and sure enough, two small loops adorn the outer shell and one decorates his lobe. Honoka feels them, and Suga lets her, sitting still as a statue. “Aaaah, so cool! Dai-nii, why can’t I get my ears pierced like Koushi-nii?”

 

“Because you hardly have time, you practice almost all year long as it is. You won’t be able to play in matches while they heal.” Honoka looks downright offended at that.

 

“I’m never getting my ears pierced,” she swears, right there and then.

 

“Honoka, did you ask Suga if you could touch his earrings?” Daichi asks, trying not to be amused at her answer. It isn’t hard to hide, because concern is starting to grow in its place. Suga still hasn’t moved since Honoka first touched his hair.

 

“Oh. Shoot, sorry again, Koushi-nii-chan.” Honoka bows to him, her hands now folded in her lap, looking ashamed of herself.

 

It takes Suga a minute to relax, and it raises just about a hundred red flags in Daichi’s mind. Kageyama looks like he’s about to blow a gasket where he sits, half of a very ugly dog drawn on his paper.

 

“It’s alright,” he says, reaching out and ruffling Honoka’s hair with a tiny smile curving his lips. “You don’t have to ask, it’s okay.”

 

Honoka looks relieved. Kageyama blinks twice, and then goes back to working on his drawing for Hiro.

 

For as much of a troublemaker as Honoka can be sometimes, she’s rather perceptive when it comes down to group dynamics – Daichi thinks, fondly, that this will make her into one hell of a player someday. He watches from the kitchen (where he’s putting water on for tea) as she runs reverent hands over the studs that punctuate the curve of Suga’s ear. After she draws her hands back, she grins at him, and Suga smiles back; one of the first honest smiles Daichi’s seen him wear in ages. He calls her back to her homework, and she complies with minimal groaning.

 

“Tea’s on the counter if you want any,” Daichi calls out to the room. Kageyama looks up and nods, but gets right back to drawing whatever Hiro asks him to, his face a dance between bewilderment and interest in response to the boisterous small boy.

 

Daichi finds himself unsure of how to fit into the picture in his living room. The feeling mingles with a protective desire to keep an eye on his younger siblings, so he settles for getting back to cleaning and watching out of his peripherals.

 

An hour later, Kageyama and Suga are at the door, ready to leave, and Hiro yells for them to wait. He makes a round between all four of them – Daichi, then Honoka, then Kageyama, and finally Suga – handing out pieces of paper with hand-drawn animals on them, the names of what they are apparently supposed to be written messily underneath (thanks to Kageyama’s guidance). Kageyama accepts his with wide eyes and something akin to awe.

 

Suga, however, only stares when Hiro tries to hand him the small square of paper with a bird on it.

 

Honoka tilts her head in confusion at Suga’s behavior.

 

“It’s for you, Kou-kun,” says Hiro, staring shyly down at his feet.

 

“I… I don’t know…” Suga mumbles, looking for all the world like he’s just seen a ghost.

 

“Suga, just take the paper,” Daichi says, a sigh in his voice. If Suga doesn’t, Hiro will cry, and ask him why, and Daichi doesn’t have the energy for the meltdown he’s going to have to deal with.

 

Apparently, he’s said the wrong thing. Kageyama scrunches his nose up and Suga goes rigid beside him.

 

“Don’t tell me what to fucking do, Daichi,” he snaps, and Daichi feels anger flare within him. In seconds he’s grabbed hold of Suga’s wrist and tows him right out the front door without a glance back.

 

Suga jerks his hand away at the sound of the door slamming closed behind them. “What the fuck is your pro-”

 

“Do. Not,” Daichi growls, freezing Suga with his protective anger. He lets his words out like bullets from a gun. “Say. Things. Like. That. In. Front. Of. Them.”

 

Suga’s brow furrows, and he opens his mouth to retort, but Daichi doesn’t let him.

 

“Yell all you want at me, cuss me out, tell me you don’t fucking care, hurt me however you want, Suga. But do not. _Do_. _Not_. Drag my siblings into this. Do you understand?”

 

Suga looks for a moment like he wants to argue and rage right back at Daichi, but with quick eyes that flick up and down Daichi, surveying everything from his tight expression to his hunched, defensive posture, he simmers out into cool acceptance.

 

“Okay. I won’t. I’m sorry.” Daichi deflates. He was expecting more of a fight, but he isn’t getting one. Suga raises his hands in front of him, shrugging. “I can behave around them. I will.”

 

Daichi rubs a hand over his face, easing some of the tension in his brow.

 

“Thank you. Really.”

 

“Is that all,” Suga asks, lowering his hands. Daichi can't help but feel guilty for losing his temper around Suga once again; he knows that he shouldn't expect to get along with him one-hundred-percent of the time, but damn if Suga doesn't wind him up.

 

“Yeah. Sorry for… yelling, and all that. Need to do a better job about keeping my temper. I just. I can’t let that sort of thing go, for them. They deserve better.”

 

“I understand. It’s alright.” Suga looks down at his feet, his voice neutral.

 

Daichi doesn’t know how to respond to that, so he shuffles in place for a second before turning to open the door. He wants to laugh at the scene that greets him – Hiro looks like he’s trying to climb up Kageyama while Honoka giggles at the pair of them, especially at Kageyama’s awkward stance.

 

“Hiro,” Daichi chides, deciding to come to Kageyama’s rescue, “let go of Kageyama, please.”

 

“Awww,” Hiro groans, sliding back down to the floor while Kageyama shoots Daichi a mouthed ‘ _thank you_ ’. The little boy catches sight of Suga again when he’s back down on the ground, and he rocks back and forth on his feet, his expression downcast. “Kou-kun? Do you not want my picture?”

 

Suga looks like he’d rather eat glass than deal with any of this, but he takes a deep breath, peeks at Kageyama for only a moment, and drops down to squat in front of Hiro.

 

“I’m sorry for how I acted earlier, Hiro-kun. Can I have the picture, after all?” Suga asks.

 

Hiro’s face splits into a grin and he rushes forward with the paper he’s picked back up off the floor. He gets to Suga and holds it out in front of him like a trophy he’s awarding to the silver-haired man.

 

“It’s a bird, only, it’s my favorite kind of bird, it’s a finch!”

 

Suga takes the paper with two fingers, delicate and careful, like the parchment will bite him if he holds it too hard.

 

“Thank you, Hiro-kun. It’s very pretty.”

 

Hiro wobbles in place for a moment, before ducking under the paper and wrapping his arms around Suga. Honoka makes a frustrated noise at her little brother.

 

“I want to hug Koushi-nii too!” she says, and runs forward to do just that.

 

With two little kids clinging to him, Suga looks like he’s swallowed a lemon. It’s impossible for Daichi to identify the emotion on his face… is he scared? Upset? Happy? Or all three at once? Suga lets his free hand come down and pat both of them on the back in turn.

 

“Alright, you two,” Daichi interrupts, “let him breathe.”

 

Reluctantly, Hiro and Honoka let go of Suga and step back.

 

“Will you come back and visit us again, nii-chan?” Honoka asks, looking hopeful. “Next time we can do something besides homework, too.”

 

“You’d better come back, Tobio-kun,” Hiro demands, looking all kinds of serious business up at Kageyama, who nods with wide eyes. Daichi, again, has to fight back a laugh.

 

“We’ll be going, for now,” Suga says, tapping his fingers against his pant leg.

 

“Thank you for having us.” Kageyama bows, and then Suga starts pulling him back towards the street.

 

“Bye!” Honoka calls after them, waving and grinning wide.

 

“Bye bye!” Hiro echoes his big sister.

 

“Bye,” Daichi whispers, setting a hand each on both of his siblings’ heads, ruffling their hair (they whine and run back inside, presumably to tell their mother all about the visit).

 

Daichi watches Kageyama and Suga walk away with bated breath, but turns around a moment too soon to see Suga glance back his way over his shoulder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> !!!!!!! is that a change in the air that i smell?? 
> 
> as far as updates go: i have to write the next two chapters - chapter 7 is more or less done, and very smutty, but i need to build the bridge that gets us from here to there. so that's what i'll be working on in the mean time, and i'll do my best to get it done quickly! i'll put a link again to my [twitter](https://twitter.com/koushichu), because it's the best way to contact me with any questions or encouragements you have for this ole fic ; ) feedback really inspires my muse, so if you have a moment to spare, i'd love to hear it! 
> 
> i hope you all have wonderful days and hope to see you with an update sooner rather than later!! <3


	5. the sleepwalker who doesn't dream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The wear and tear of their worlds.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IM NEVER SAYING "ILL UPDATE SOON" AGAIN IN MY LIFE ITS ALWAYS A JINX. That aside this chapter was fucking DIFFICULT AS FUCK to write so I hope you enjoy it! If you're looking for a pick-me-up, or having a bad day, maybe save this update for another time. 
> 
> warnings for this chapter!  
> -brief nsfw smutty stuff starting at "How about you come out here..." until "To: Iwaizumi Hajime"  
> -mentions of past abuse  
> -dissociation

It would be a lie to say that Daichi has never felt this uncomfortable in his own house before, but he won't deny that this experience ranks up there with the worst of them. Keiko is restricted to bed rest now, with her condition deteriorating rapidly – sometimes Daichi wonders if she’ll make it through the summer at all. Her body is wasted and weak, and most days she spends more time asleep than awake. She can still make short trips to the bathroom connected to her room, but even those have Daichi terrified that she’ll fall on the way.

 

He leans against the wall in the hallway outside his mother’s closed door, so used to being on the other side of it, but for once unable to be. Muffled voices tell him that his mom is coherent, thankfully, as the doctor examines her. He’s been asked to stay outside for the time being. It’s an awful, ominous feeling, like a too-tight shirt collar that he can’t pull over his neck and away from his throat. Daichi feels like he’s waiting for the other shoe to drop.

 

There’s a part of Daichi that he hates, a small fragment of his mind that quietly, selfishly wishes his mom would just _die already_. The waiting is killing him, the helplessness and fear is sometimes crippling. Daichi is disgusted with the part of himself that wants these things. How can a good son wish for his mother to die? And yet, when he sees the red and purple bags under his eyes and how sadness has begun to drag down his siblings’ shoulders… he wishes it would all just _end_.

 

He wishes none of this was happening at all. To someone else. To himself.

 

_How can his siblings move on without her?_

 

The door opens and snaps him from his thoughts. The doctor, Ueda-sensei, is a short, greying man in his late fifties. He’s business-like and honest, although sometimes Daichi wishes he was less so. There’s no warmth in his delivery of good news, and no sympathy in his delivery of the bad. Blunt, to the point, and – Daichi swallows as he takes the sheet of paper handed to him – expensive.

 

“Ueda-sensei,” Daichi bows, low and respectful.

 

“Sawamura-san,” Ueda responds with a less pronounced bow.

 

“How did the appointment go?”

 

Ueda frowns, looking down as he fiddles with the contents of his bag, distracted. Daichi wishes the doctor would give him his full attention. His mother is dying; he feels that this conversation warrants some eye contact.

 

“It went as expected for a patient with your mother’s condition. She won’t be lucid as much as she has been in the past, but that will be the pain medicine. All for the better, perhaps; things get a bit nastier around this stage in the progression of the disease.”

 

Daichi swallows. “I see.”

 

“She’s still permitted to use the restroom on her own, though I fear in the near future it may not be so. Have you considered hiring a nurse to help you through that process? It is not always advisable to leave patients home alone once they reach that point.” Ueda-sensei pushes his glasses up on the bridge of his nose.

 

“I… I hadn’t put much thought into it yet, no.”

 

“Better to do the thinking now, before it’s too late to do any planning, you know.”

 

“I’ll look into it.” Daichi can already sense the numbers flying in the back of his head.

 

“Well, I’ve upped her dosage a bit. Shall I return same time next week?”

 

Daichi nods. “Yes, please do, Ueda-sensei. Would you like anything to drink before you go?”

 

“No, no, that’s alright. I have another appointment to be getting to, now.”

 

They move towards the door, and Daichi clenches and unclenches his fingers, pressing the nails into the flesh to relieve some of the tension that’s winding him up. When they reach the door, Daichi bows again.

 

“Thank you again, sensei.”

 

“I’ll be seeing you next week, Sawamura-san.”

 

The door swings shut with a finality that makes Daichi’s stomach hurt.

 

 

= = =

 

 

“Sugawara hasn’t been by for a couple weeks, has he?” Iwaizumi asks, wiping down the countertop beside Daichi.

 

“Oh, no. I guess he hasn’t.”

 

“What’s that about?” Iwaizumi stops wiping to look at Daichi.

 

Daichi shrugs. “I’m not sure. We haven’t spoken much lately.” He doesn’t add how strange it makes him feel. True, he’s been busy lately, but he really thought they’d made some progress.

 

Iwaizumi purses his lips, raising an eyebrow at Daichi until Daichi finally looks up at him.

 

“What?” he asks, feeling like he’s about to get a lecture from his coworker.

 

“I dunnoh. I kinda thought you had a thing for him, is all.”

 

Daichi drops the change he’d been counting and stoops down quickly to get a handle of the coins before they all roll away.

 

“A-A thing? What does that mean?” he sputters as Iwaizumi drops to his knees to help him.

 

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to take things too far. I shouldn’t have said anything.”

 

“No, Iwaizumi, it’s okay, but. What do you mean, a thing?”

 

“You know… Like, a crush, or whatever.” Iwaizumi is blushing as he scowls at the floor. “He’s a full-on dickbag to everyone else but you, and he’s kinda known for being, I don’t know, a sorta rough guy in this town… and even though he’s not nice about it, he had been making time to see you here every week. And don’t act like you never smiled at your phone when he texted you, I know better.”

 

Daichi has stopped picking up change off the floor. “A crush? On Suga?” Sure, in high school, maybe, but that was before Daichi was out, before things at home got… tricky.

 

“Sorry, I shouldn’t jump to conclusions, I don’t even know if you’re-“

 

“I am. Gay.”

 

Iwaizumi looks up with a smirk. “Oikawa owes me five hundred yen. Thanks Daichi.”

 

Daichi just groans, rising back to his feet in unison with Iwaizumi, who starts helping him count this time around.

 

“Don’t tell me this was all a ploy to get me to admit it so you’d win a bet…”

 

Iwaizumi’s green eyes widen, and he shakes his head vehemently. “No, I wouldn’t do something like that, come on, you know better!” Daichi grins. “I was just curious. You seem like you’ve got a lot on your mind, but when he came in you were a little more at ease. So I just wondered.”

 

“I… I’m not really sure how I feel about him. I don’t think I have time for romance right now.”

 

“Oh, no time for romance, but you’ve got time to take that extra shift tomorrow, huh?”

 

“Hey, that’s different.”

 

Iwaizumi squints at him, frowning once again.

 

“You’re working yourself to death, Daichi. I’m worried about you, okay?”

 

Daichi flinches when Iwaizumi says this, and quickly jots down the total for the change before tossing it into the drawer.

 

“I’m fine, Iwaizumi. Just got a lot on my plate.”

 

“You know you can-“

 

The bell over the door rings, announcing Oikawa’s daily arrival, and Daichi leaves to go to the break room before Iwaizumi gets a chance to start back in on the conversation (he does _not_ need to fend off both Iwaizumi and Oikawa at once). He does, however, feel an odd sense of warmth at the thought that someone cares enough about him to notice these things.

 

That night, Daichi dreams a different dream than the recurring nightmares.

 

He’s in a hotel bathroom, lighting low, shower on. Daichi becomes aware, as he looks at his reflection in the wide mirror, that someone else is already in the shower. He’s not wearing a shirt, or pants for that matter, just a pair of navy blue boxers that fit him well.

 

The dream continues on autopilot, words flowing out of his mouth like a memorized script. It’s like Daichi is participating in an abstract way; seeing through his eyes, saying his lines, feeling everything, but passively, like the dream is a boat that’s carrying him forward.

 

“You almost done in there?”

 

“What’s the rush?” says the voice of the other occupant of the room, muffled. Daichi can’t tell who it is, but he’s sure it’s male. The thought makes him swallow.

 

“You’re just going to have to get right back in after I’m done with you, you know,” Daichi replies, and his hand settles on his hip. Already the blood seems to be moving through his veins with a higher intensity, and it only increases when the shower shuts off in response to his words.

 

“I hope,” replies the unmistakable voice of Sugawara Koushi, “you’re not just saying that, Da-i-chi~.” He enunciates each syllable in a way that makes the muscles in Daichi’s lower back tighten.

 

“How about you come out here so I can show you.”

 

And he does, dripping wet and naked and oh, so glorious. Daichi eyes him from head to toe; from the limp tuft of hair that has never, ever laid flat a day in Suga’s life, down with the water droplets that collect in the dip of Suga’s collarbones, over his chest, pausing over his dick, only to sweep down those long, pale legs to the floor.

 

“Sawamura-kun, you’re embarrassing me!” Suga says, pretending to cover himself bashfully. Daichi throws a towel at him.

 

“Hurry up, you.”

 

“Never rush perfection, Daichi.”

 

Daichi watches Suga towel himself off (suggestively) for about thirty seconds before he can’t take it anymore. He’s across the room in a few strides and pulling Suga against him, foregoing that mouth for a chance to suck on Suga’s earlobe.

 

“Daichi,” Suga exhales, and Daichi rests his hands on Suga’s hips while he kisses down Suga’s neck.

 

“Gonna fuck you,” he says, pressing the words into Suga’s shoulder. “Gonna make you forget your name.”

 

“Oh,” Suga whispers, a soft sound of surprise that betrays every air of submission that Daichi wants from him right now. Suga nods feebly while Daichi runs his fingers along Suga’s bare waist. He can feel Suga’s hardness pressing against him now.

 

“Daichi…”

 

The dream seems to phase through time, and next thing Daichi knows he’s hovering over Suga, who’s bent over the countertop of the bathroom, hands clenched at either side of his head, moaning. Daichi’s rutting along his ass, rolling his hips so that his erection slides slow and smooth between Suga’s cheeks, teasing the hole with every pass.

 

“Look at yourself, Koushi. Look how good you are for my cock.”

 

And Suga looks, mouth hanging open, and then their eyes meet in the reflection of the mirror.

 

Daichi’s eyes snap open, dragged from the dream back into reality like someone dumped a bucket of ice water over his head.

 

“Fuck,” he whispers in the quiet of his room, dick throbbing in his boxers. It was just a dream. He wishes it wasn’t. “ _Fuck_.”

 

 **To: Iwaizumi Hajime**  
(3:15AM)

 **> >** YOUR FAULT  
**> >** ALL YOUR FAULT  
**> >** DAMN YOU IWAIZUMI

 

 

= = =

 

 

One night, after the kids have been tucked in and his mother has been given her medicine, Daichi makes his way around the house, locking doors, shutting windows, and turning off lights. He’ll work out and shower and try (fail) to get some sleep.

 

He enters the kitchen and glances at the clock. It’s about ten p.m., and his mind wanders to all the things he needs to get done. Honoka has a birthday party to attend next week, which means he needs to pick up a gift for her on his way home from work. Maybe he’ll do it tomorrow? He needs to find the post-it note she wrote down the gift ideas on, and while he’s at it, he needs to get a head start on tomorrow’s bentos for his siblings. His mom’s medicine has been refilled and is ready to be picked up, which means it’s ready to be paid for, but his bank account isn’t ready to handle all of these things at once, plus groceries. Maybe someone is looking to drop a shift again this weekend, he thinks, remembering the long double he pulled the past Saturday.

 

It feels like the thoughts in his head are moving too fast for him to comprehend. There’s so much stress and anxiety filling his mind that a part of Daichi just _doesn’t care_ anymore, and that tiny part begins to grow until he feels nothing, nothing but a vague sense of disconnect from his own five senses. His mind feels like a buzzing beehive minus the bees; a hollow cavern full of humming but nothing where things _should_ logically be. He feels nothing at all, no emotions, which would be blissful if he could feel bliss, but he can’t. It’s like Daichi is frozen, and it’s the ache in his feet that finally pulls him back into reality.

 

He glances over at the clock to see that the numbers have ticked over to read “01:00” and his heart almost stops in his chest. He registers movement, and is shocked to find that it’s his own arm moving, his fingers flicking the light switch on and off. A sudden, terrifying thought crosses his mind.

 

_Has he been standing here turning the light on and off for three straight hours?_

 

Daichi doesn’t understand. He doesn’t know where the time went and can’t remember doing anything that could have potentially taken up three hours of his evening. But still, he stands there, breathing hard, glancing around the house to see that he never got around to turning all of the lights off, and that’s when it really sinks in that he has indeed been flipping a light switch on repeat.

 

There’s a brief moment of mind-numbing panic that worms its way deep inside him, because Daichi is suddenly afraid that he’s _losing his goddamn mind_. Because surely, if he were sane, he wouldn’t be standing in his kitchen experiencing this revelation, sweat pearling on his brow, while his fingers _continue_ to flick the light switch like they belong to someone else entirely. His breath comes in short pants, and another awful idea drifts through his head.

 

If he goes crazy, who’s going to take care of his family?

 

Maybe it should be him in that bed, after all.

 

There’s no conscious moment when Daichi loses himself to the dissociation again; maybe it’s when his aching fingers drop to his side again, maybe it’s when his feet carry him out of the kitchen, or maybe it’s when the cool night air hits the sweat on his face, and instead of a chill, Daichi feels nothing at all.

 

 

= = =

 

 

Kageyama glances over his shoulder to the prone form sleeping on his bed. Suga had come back looking worse for the wear tonight, and although he isn't covered in cuts or bruises, there are shadows under his eyes and an unhealthy paleness to his skin. But none of this compares to the way his shoulders had tensed whenever Kageyama gestured broadly, or how those brown eyes darted to even the well-lit corners of his room.

 

Talking hadn’t seemed to help much, so Kageyama settled on going about his nightly routine, making sure he made enough noise that Suga would know where he was – on nights like these he tends to startle easy. Suga paced and paced back and forth Kageyama’s room until Kageyama couldn’t stand it anymore; he’d slowly crossed the room and wrapped his arms (carefully, gently, gradually) around Suga’s frame until the shaking – which he hadn’t seen, but certainly now felt – had subsided.

 

“Is there anything I can do to help?” Kageyama had asked, pulling back to look Suga in the eyes, reading the exhaustion written in them that Suga would deny existed. Suga shook his head and drooped, so Tobio had guided him towards his bed and all but forced him to lay down.

 

“I’m doing my homework,” he said, and heard a muffled sound of confirmation that didn’t comfort him much, but at least the pacing had stopped.

 

Now, half an hour later, Suga’s breaths have evened out into the sound of waves crashing against a shoreline; and Kageyama hears a gentle knock at his front door. It’s the middle of the night (Tobio has a paper due tomorrow that he neglected to do in favor of practicing his dump shots), and he leans back in his chair, giving the window a wary glance.

 

Who would be here in the middle of the night?

 

He glances over at his old senpai, decides that he’ll be okay alone for a few minutes (he’s asleep, after all), and rises from his chair.

 

Tobio goes down the steps two at a time, socked feet soundless on the wood. He peeks out the little window beside the door – it never hurts to double-check – and frowns at who he sees.

 

He opens the door, and there stands Daichi, looking entirely lost and out of place.

 

“Daichi-san,” Kageyama says, tentative. Daichi makes no move to show that he’s heard Kageyama at all, and it’s this which makes him give the man a more thorough once-over.

 

Daichi’s eyes are wide, hardly focused, and the set of his shoulders is entirely unlike him – small, unsure, oddly hunched. It’s such a contrast from the man Kageyama knows that he reaches out on pure instinct and touches Daichi’s shoulder.

 

“Daichi-san?” he repeats, and Daichi jerks back like he’s been shocked. He blinks the haze away from his unfocused eyes and his gaze locks with Kageyama’s. “Can you hear me?”

 

“Kageyama,” Daichi replies, lifting a hand to touch his shoulder where Tobio had nudged him. “What are you doing here?”

 

Tobio glances around his own front porch and then back at Daichi, frowning.

 

“Daichi-san, I live here.”

 

“You – I’m at your house.” Daichi’s tone is flat and confused, and now he’s the one looking at his surroundings like it’s the first time he’s ever seen them.

 

“Yes, you are. What are you doing here, Daichi-san? Do you need something?”

 

Kageyama watches the gears turn in Daichi’s head without the slightest clue what’s going through his mind.

 

“No, I don’t need anything. How did I… how did I get here?”

 

“I don’t know,” Tobio admits. It isn’t the first time Daichi’s been to his house and he definitely knows the way, so the question strikes him as odd. “Don’t you remember?”

 

“No, I was just home… What time is it?”

 

Kageyama fishes his phone out of his pocket and looks.

 

“Three a.m.”

 

“ _Three_?!” Daichi shouts, paling before Tobio’s eyes. He takes a tiny step back, raising his hands to touch his face. “Fuck, it was just one, _fuck_!”

 

Kageyama isn’t used to hearing Daichi swear, not that it bothers him; but it does raise a few more red flags in his head.

 

“Daichi-san, I don’t understand…”

 

“Fuck, fuck, they’ve been home alone for two hours, what if… shit.” Daichi looks up and for the first time in his life, Kageyama sees weakness in those dark irises. “I have to go. Sorry!”

 

Tobio doesn’t get time to ask anything else; stunned, he watches Daichi turn and take off at a mad run back up the street, in the direction of his home. How long had Daichi been standing on his front porch before knocking? Why did he leave his siblings home alone? And why… why did he look so afraid?

 

Just what the hell was going on?

 

“Kageyama? Tobio!” calls a voice from within his home. And just like that, he’s back inside and moving up the staircase by twos again.

 

= = =

 

Suga wakes up, shaking and breathless. Even worse, he wakes up alone. The echoes of his nightmare still rattle around inside his skull like mints in a tin. The most painful of all is that he can't even reassure himself with the words _it wasn't real, it was just a dream, it didn't happen._

 

Because it _was_ real, it _wasn't_ just a dream, and it _did_ happen.

 

Even now he can taste the smoke on his tongue.

 

"Kageyama?" Koushi calls, fingers pressed white against the blue sheets. "Tobio!"

 

He hears feet on the stairs and then Kageyama ducks through the door, a worried frown pulling his eyebrows down to crease in the middle.

 

"I'm here," Tobio says matter-of-factly, and Koushi looks down at his own lap. "What is it?"

 

"Ah..." Suga feels something curl in his chest, twisting the words out of his system before they can escape. Kageyama is an exception to most of his rules, but even so, Suga resents this feeling that being seen in a moment of weakness gives him. He dreads being a burden to those around him, he is infinitely afraid of giving them the thoughts in his head, weapons tailored to harm him alone. And he'll never forgive himself if his demons hurt Kageyama, too. Moments like these remind him how ruined he is, scarred mentally and physically, his every facet marked by what he's gone through, by what has been done to him. So he folds his hands together in his lap and meets Kageyama's eyes. "It was nothing, just a bad dream. Sorry, I shouldn't have yelled."

 

Tobio nods after a beat of silence, crossing the room to sit at his desk.

 

"Daichi-san was just here."

 

Suga's nose wrinkles in distaste, eager to jump on the distraction from his dream and the heavy feelings it left him with. "What does _he_ want, then?"

 

Kageyama looks at Suga over his shoulder, blue eyes focused and contemplating.

 

"I'm not sure. I thought you two were getting along."

 

Koushi pouts, his tone prickly. "I thought we were _trying_ to, but I guess that was just me."

 

Anger flares up within him at the thought. He'd stopped by the café that Daichi worked at almost every week since they'd made up, but Daichi had seemed more distracted with each visit. It was as if he wasn't actually listening to what Suga said because he had something else on his mind, something more important. It wasn't anything new for Koushi, who is used to people treating him with dismissal and indifference, but it certainly stung anyways. He'd visited Daichi's house once more with Kageyama (to see the kids, he told himself), but even then, Daichi had spent a good half hour of the visit out of the room. Daichi's texts had grown short and clipped, his response times slower than before (not that Koushi was waiting around for them, or anything).

 

All of it pisses Suga off. Daichi had made it clear that he wanted to play a role in Suga's life, for whatever idiotic and probably noble reason, and Suga had been stupid enough to let him. Once again, he's been burned by someone as soon as he's decided to reach out and try to touch them. People are fire, and Koushi is a paper crane.

 

"What happened?" Kageyama asks, uncertain. He knows by Suga's expression that he isn't pleased.

 

"Nothing happened," Koushi grumbles, nails pressing against the skin of his arm. "He doesn't care about me, I don't care about him, score settled."

 

It tastes like a lie.

 

"I don't think that's true," Kageyama says back, frowning. "You wouldn't be so mad if you didn't care."

 

Koushi can’t hold back the rant that builds at the tip of his tongue. "Maybe I'm more mad at myself than I am at him! I know better than to give people like him my time of day. All they do is take everyone around them for granted, because they only care about themselves and their own perfect fucking lives! When has he ever had to deal with anything difficult? He's a goddamn goody-two-shoes, Tobio-kun. He doesn't give a fuck about me, so there's no reason for me to waste my time on him."

 

Kageyama blinks.

 

"That may be so. I'm not good at reading people in the same way as you are... I don't have any idea what goes through their minds." He pauses to take a deep breath. "But, Koushi, don't you think... Well, you always get mad at him and tell him he doesn't know you anymore, right? But, don't you think that after four years, maybe you don't know him anymore either?"

 

Koushi spends a moment reeling back at Tobio's words before he's on the defensive again.

 

"But-"

 

Kageyama cuts him off. "Just now, downstairs, I saw him. He looked awful. Like he was lost, and it was... it was really damn weird. Daichi-san didn't even answer when I first tried to talk to him, it was like he was a zombie or something. It's three in the morning, Koushi-kun. When I asked him why he was here, he didn’t even know where _here_ was.”

 

“What?” Koushi asks, taken completely off-guard.

 

“Exactly what I said. He was down there, and he yelled something about “leaving them alone,” I don’t know. He wasn’t making any sense. I mean it though… it’s been four years. Try to be more patient with him.”

 

“That’s a lot easier said than done, Tobio-kun. I’ve been trying to be patient for weeks.”

 

“I know, Koushi-kun. I’m just suggesting that you try.”

 

Koushi bites his lip, and wonders. Because maybe, just maybe, Kageyama is right.

 

Maybe, just maybe, Koushi isn’t the only one hiding things these days.

 

 

= = =

 

 

The way things work for Suga is like this: he wakes up most mornings in his shitty cheap apartment on the seedy side of town and spends five minutes staring at the blank white ceiling. In his head, he calls this his "prep time." It's time spent gearing himself up mentally for whatever tasks he has to go about on any given day, be it stealing, running, or dealing.

 

He may live in a glorified shoebox, but Suga isn't messy. His clothes are folded neatly on his makeshift wooden shelves, futon rolled up in the corner of the room, neat stacks of mismatched plates ordered by size (big on bottom to the smallest on top); everything has a place and everything is in its place. It certainly doesn't match the dented, peeling walls, or the chipped countertops, but it speaks of Suga in its own way.

 

He brushes his teeth every morning and tries not to stare at the picture taped up against the mirror in his tiny en-suite bathroom. He pointedly avoids glancing at the stack of paper cups leaning against the wall in the corner of the main room while he cooks breakfast on his stovetop. He keeps meaning to throw them away, but he's been distracted by his day-to-day routine. He supposes he'll have to deal with it next time he cleans.

 

But today isn't a day for cleaning. Today he needs to scrounge up the money for the next month's rent - he never pays in advance in case he needs to relocate on short notice, but it's always nice to plan ahead so he isn't scrambling around for cash when it comes time to pay. His options are few, each worse than the last: to pickpocket, to shoplift, to deal the stash of drugs he's been trying to hold onto until he can make the most of them, or to show up at the hangout of the local supplier he's gotten acquainted with. The greater risk means greater the reward, but Koushi knows better than to bite off more than he can chew.

 

 _'Earn money the honest way', Koushi? Are you fucking with me right now? This is the only thing you're good for. You're_ good _at this, babe. Do you really want to put us in a tight spot financially again with that moral high-ground stuff? I can't support both of us on my own. You know that. Besides, when they ask you for references, whose name would you even write? Koushi, you know I love you, but sometimes, you're really fucking stupid, you know that?_

 

"I know," Koushi mumbles as he shuts and locks the door behind him, tucking his key deep into his back pocket.

 

Summer weather makes it hard to steal like Suga would prefer to do. Silver hair, scarred hands, a beauty mark under his left eye; it's safe to say he sticks out like a sore thumb. The more he covers up, the weirder he'll look. But he does, however, have a weapon in his arsenal that makes up for these drawbacks: his charm. It's not something he likes to rely on, because if someone from the darker side of his life were to see him helping an old woman across the street, they'd probably think him weak (even if he'd stolen her wallet out of her purse while doing so).

 

The last thing Suga needs is to paint himself as an even bigger target. His soft complexion and natural beauty is already working against him.

 

Koushi spends two hours at the local shopping district, making his way around picking out easy targets to lift from. He buys a burger from a McDonald's (cheap and travel-friendly), slides down to sit against an alley wall, and pulls his bag in front of him. Fifteen wallets - a grand total of 35000 yen. It's not bad. Certainly enough to take care of rent. There's also a pair of limited edition tennis shoes sitting comfy in his bag that he knew he could make some money off of.

 

He should call it a day right then and there; he's done enough, more than enough for one day. But a voice whispers to him from the past.

 

_'Do you really want to live with just enough? Oh, Koushi. You're so stupid. It's a good thing you have me here to help you, you'd get nowhere on your own! If you want a good life, you've got to work for more than just enough. That should have been obvious. No, it's okay. You don't need to apologize. I expect too much from you.'_

 

Suga finishes off the burger, but it's with a sense of nausea in his stomach that he pushes everything back in his bag and rises to his feet. Why is _he_ on his mind today of all days? It makes him sick.

 

It makes him _angry._

 

Maybe that's why he does it, walks himself to the place he know he'll find unfriendly faces with wolf-like grins. The men at the door know to let him through; but they don't do it without roughing him up more than necessary.

 

"Checking for weapons," one of them says with a hand on Suga's ass. Both his words and his touch are unnecessary, and Suga would love nothing more than to throw an elbow into the man's crooked teeth; but they are armed, and he is not. And he can't afford losing this contact; it's his best paying 'job.'

 

"You know the drill," says the other, who watches with a lecherous grin.

 

"Hmm," Suga responds, emptily, and remembers a pair of hands that felt much, much worse on his body.

 

They let him enter the building, and he walks past the bar, the group of people watching a woman dance on stage without an echo of interest in his body. He's feeling on edge, like a recently-honed blade, ready to cut down anyone who gets in his path.

 

It's funny, he thinks. He woke up this morning with a vague sense of optimism about the day. But as it goes on, he's slipping right back into the unfeelingness he's lived for the past couple of years.

 

"Suga-kun," greets a voice when he enters the back room. "Good to see you! I was just thinking how it had been awhile. Any reason for that?"

 

His golden eyes meet a pair of analyzing black ones - not the warm darkness he wants to find, not... but he won't think about that right now.

 

The man before him, Ando Ken, is tall and built, his size like Asahi's. But he lacks Asahi's meekness and warmth, his gentle nature. Ando-san is scarred and tan, black hair going slightly grey behind his ears, with a wrinkled freckled face that tells about a life full of smiles (genuine or otherwise). Suga knows him to be fair to people who have proved loyal or useful, and for that he is grateful. It's why he sought him out on his own in the first place.

 

"No reason in particular, Ando-san," Koushi finally replies with a bow. "I've been trying to stay off the radar."

 

"Good," Ando says with a nod. He likes Suga, having seen his deceptive strength firsthand. Suga can't say the feeling is mutual, but he at least respects the way Ando-san runs his operations. Ando-san prefers using a looser leash on his 'employees,' believing a tight grip around everyone's throat is the quickest way to breed disquiet. For this, Suga has never felt trapped in his position; it's probably one of the biggest reasons he continues to work for Ando.

 

“So, I was hoping you might have a job for me today,” Suga says, scarred arms folded behind his back. “Nothing too risky; I’ve already been out for awhile today so I don’t think I can handle anything too intense. Maybe later this week, though.”

 

Ando smiles knowingly.

 

“I’ve got just the thing…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I KNOW ITS A SORTA SAD FROWNY CHAPTER but on the bright side, the first turning point is next chapter. and there's smut in the chapter after that. YOU'RE ALMOST TO THE FLUFF, OKAY, I PROMISE. I WOULDNT LIE TO YOU, UNLESS ITS ABOUT UPDATING SOON, IN WHICH CASE I ALWAYS LIE, BECAUSE IM A MESS.
> 
>  **on to the important stuff:**  
>  -if you notice anything odd about the flow, please say something! as i said, this chapter was hard to write, so if it sounds disjointed, i'd like to smooth it out!  
> -here's my [twitter](https://twitter.com/koushichu), not because i'm thirsting for followers, but because i rly.. rly.. wanna talk to more ppl who love daisuga as much as i do.  
> -thank you so, so very much for reading. ive worked really hard on this fic and it means so much to see people enjoy it. if you love it, please share it; please share your other fav fics, authors love when their work reaches wider audiences, it is such a wonderful reward... thank you, really. i love you and appreciate you for taking the time to read this story. σ(≧ε≦σ)


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